The Twist of Time
by rwcr
Summary: Ch. 10, complete! AU, post HBP. On August 11, 1976, four teenagers appear in Dumbledore's office. With knowledge of the future they will never return to, they set out to cut the Dark Lord's reign short. Will they get it right? Dangerverse spinoff.
1. Here to Stay

**Disclaimer:** I'll say it once and I won't say it again, folks: I do not, never have, and never will own Harry Potter. All aspects of the Harry Potter universe belong to the brilliant J.K. Rowling. Everything from the Dangerverse—the Founders, the Pack-bond, the characters of Aletha Freeman and Gertrude "Danger" Granger, and probably more stuff I'm forgetting—belongs to the equally brilliant Anne Walsh, known as _whydoyouneedtoknow_. They made this universe; I'm just building upon it to make a story that will be (I hope!) interesting and engaging.

And now, on with the good stuff. . .

* * *

**Chapter 1: Here to Stay**.

On August 11, 1976, four terrified teenagers appeared suddenly in the office of a very wise old man named Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Even in the world of magic with which Professor Dumbledore was well acquainted—perhaps the best acquainted of any wizard—such an occurrence was extremely unusual.

For the most part, the inhabitants of the Headmaster's office gave no sign that they even knew the four had appeared. Very fragile-looking and clearly magical silver instruments continued their nonchalant whirring; the portraits of past Headmasters lining the walls continued their sleep (one even emitted a loud snore); and Dumbledore himself remained as he was, intently studying a scroll of parchment. Only his phoenix, a magnificent bird with red and gold plumage named Fawkes, gave any sign that he noticed the disturbance; he turned to face the mysterious visitors and emitted a loud trill that somehow seemed to convey a message of acceptance.

At this, Dumbledore looked up from the cracked and yellowed scroll and surveyed the four magisterially over his half-moon glasses. "I do wonder how you four—students, by your appearance, and yet unknown to me—have appeared so suddenly in my office," he mused calmly. "Would you care to explain?"

One of the four, a messy-haired boy with glasses and a unique lightning-bolt-shaped scar on his forehead, seemed highly taken aback by this. "Professor Dumbledore! But— but— you're dead!" he exclaimed.

"I assure you, my boy, I am very much alive, and have been for quite some time now. Now, can any of you explain how you came to be in my office?"

The black-haired boy seemed too shocked to speak, so one of his companions, a girl with quite a lot of very bushy hair, tried to explain. "Well, sir, we don't really understand it ourselves. One moment Voldemort himself and some twenty Death Eaters are attacking the Burrow, and they've put up Anti-Apparation wards to prevent us from getting out. The next, Fawkes appears and starts singing a lot, as if he's trying to tell us something—not that we could understand him—and we all just find ourselves here. Don't you have any idea what happened?"

"I am afraid I do not, Miss . . ."

"Granger. Hermione Granger. You don't remember me, Professor?" she asked, clearly shocked.

"No, I do not," said the Headmaster with a sigh. "I do not recognize any of you, in fact, except that one of you bears quite a startling resemblance to James Potter."

"Erm . . . that would be me, Professor," said the black-haired boy with a frown of puzzlement. "Harry Potter. James Potter was my father. You really don't recognize any of us?"

Dumbledore's calm never wavered during this statement, but a skilled observer would have noticed the flicker of surprise that flitted across his face. "Again, no, I do not. I believe there is something we all are missing here. Perhaps Fawkes can enlighten us."

At the mention of his name, Fawkes let out a series of ringing and uplifting notes.

"Time travel?" asked the Headmaster in response, surprised and apparently a bit disappointed in the phoenix. "Surely you didn't . . ."

Fawkes merely bobbed his head in response.

"But _why_?"

Fawkes let out a soft croon that sounded admonishing. _You don't need to know that_, it seemed to say.

"Very well." He turned back to the travelers. "Perhaps it will interest you to know that the date is August 11, 1976."

Four pairs of eyes widened in surprise when Dumbledore named the year. _That's my parents' sixth year!_ thought Harry excitedly. "Well, I suppose we'd better introduce ourselves then," he said with a sigh. "I'm Harry Potter, and this—" he motioned to a tall, gangly red-headed boy with freckles— "is Ron Weasley, my best friend. Hermione there is my other best friend, and on my left is Ginny Weasley, my girlfriend. Do you know how to send us back to our own time? I suppose we should thank Fawkes for saving our lives, but he really did choose a roundabout way of doing it. . ."

"Perhaps Fawkes had a reason for his actions; I am sure he considered them a last resort. Sadly, though, I am afraid I know of no way to return you home. It is easy enough to send a wizard _back_ in time, although I do not believe anyone has ever gone so far back as you, but no way is known to send people forward." The group wore expressions of mingled worry and sadness. Dumbledore seemed heedless of this, though, and continued to explain. "Do any of you have experience with a Time-Turner?"

Hermione nodded, still confused. "I used one during my third year."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled strongly. "Then you remember that you always had to 'catch up' to your own time at normal speed, Miss Granger. If you went back an hour, you had to live out that hour."

Hermione clearly understood this, and it upset her even more.

"Nevertheless," said Dumbledore, "I shall try my hardest to find a way to return the four of you home. In the mean time, it would probably be best if you enrolled here as students. What year are you in?"

"Sixth for me, seventh for everyone else," said Ginny. "All Gryffindors."

"Excellent. Please do ensure that you keep what you know of the future to yourselves; as you should know, that is information that could have unforeseeable and disastrous consequences."

The students nodded; Harry in particular knew he would have a hard time keeping calm around his dead parents, dead godfather, and their traitorous friend, but he knew he had to try. _Things were meant to happen that way_, he forced himself to think, but he wasn't really able to convince himself.

"Now, as to your names. Mr. Weasley, Miss Weasley, the last Weasley passed through this school over eight years ago, so you should be fine. Miss Granger, I do not recognize your name—"

"I'm Muggle-born, Professor."

"Then yours should not be a problem either. As for you, though, Mr. Potter, your father will be just a year below you. It is ultimately your choice to make, but perhaps you should go by another name during your stay here."

"Erm. . . Professor?" said Harry. "The Marauders—my dad and his friends—have an, er, object that shows the names of everyone in the school. As far as I know, it's impossible to fool, and I don't want to arouse suspicion, so . . ."

"Ah, I see. In that case, I suppose you will just have to go by Harry Potter. You can always explain away your last name as a coincidence."

Harry nodded detachedly in agreement, still trying to come to grips with where—no, _when_ he was.

"Now, as for your books and supplies— ah, I see that Fawkes thought to bring your trunks with him. He really is quite an intelligent bird. The things he does sometimes. . ." Dumbledore trailed off.

Ron cleared his throat. "Erm— Professor? What about our cover story?"

"I was just getting to that, Mr. Weasley," he said with a smile. "Let's see . . . You can be victims of a Death Eater attack that destroyed your hometown and killed your parents; you originally were homeschooled, but your remaining relatives thought it best to send you here."

"That sounds reasonable," said Ginny. "What are we going to do for the next few weeks?"

"Gryffindor Tower is open to you, as is the library. I am confident you will find some way to keep yourselves busy," said Dumbledore, smiling benignly. "I do believe that is all. If you need anything, the password to my office is 'Tootsie Pop'." He sighed. "Well, welcome to Hogwarts—again!"

* * *

Just as Fawkes disappeared with Harry and his friends, ten very well-known—and, most assumed, very dead—people began a heated discussion in a realm not entirely of this world. An impartial observer might have seen the beautiful white castle they inhabited as remniscent of Hogwarts at its founding; the inhabitants, though, knew that it was actually the same school they had founded nearly a thousand years ago, perhaps even more real and certainly more magical than the Hogwarts of the physical world.

For the inhabitants of the castle were none other than the Founders of Hogwarts and their families: the brave Godric Gryffindor with his son Paul and daughter Maura; the wise Rowena Ravenclaw with her three daughters Sophie, Margaret, and Brenna; the loyal Helga Hufflepuff with her son Adam; and Alexander Slytherin, son of the sly Salazar, the only one of his family who had not broken the oaths that bound them.

"How did they even _get_ there?" asked Rowena, ever the practical one. "Time travel has always been impossible over distances that great; I seem to recall that as one of the first strictures we instated."

"Because of the work it creates for us!" exclaimed Brenna Ravenclaw, indicating her two sisters. "Can you imagine keeping track of a different universe for every petty meddler in time?" The other Founders winced sympathetically.

"So how did they get back, if one of us didn't do it?" Rowena was clearly still confused.

"Ah," interjected Godric, "but one of us _did_. Myself, in fact." Being generally seen as the leader of the group, he commanded a great deal of respect, but this didn't stem the Ravenclaw sisters' outrage.

"You did WHAT? Do I really need to remind you, Godric Gryffindor, of the consequences of such an action?" Brenna was beginning to gather steam, startlingly remniscent of one Professor McGonagall at Hogwarts. "Even if they were to go back the instant they got there, their presence would have already caused no insignificant degree of change! And you _know_ we aren't allowed to do things like this on a whim—even if it _is_ your Heir and your bloody phoenix we're talking about!"

Godric seemed unfazed by this tirade. "Ah, ah, Brenna, Weena, but I've got clearance."

The remaining objections immediately quieted, with the exception of an indignant "Don't call me Weena!" from Ravenclaw. Clearance from "Upstairs" (as mysterious and shrouded in secrecy as it sounded) was terribly rare, especially for such a large change, and it was not given without good reason. Brenna still looked angry, though.

"Brenna, it's definitely better for the world if Dad's no-good Heir gets defeated," said Alexander Slytherin placatingly. "There's no telling the kind of havoc he'd wreak if _the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord_ was dead. I know we're concerned with keeping the world on track, but that requires that we _have_ a world to keep on track, and not just some huge conglomeration of Dark magic."

"Hear, hear!" said Paul Gryffindor. Ravenclaw semeed to have let go of her anger. "So, Dad, what will we do about it?"

"Keep them there," said Godric, "in 1976. They won't be able to go back, but they don't know that yet; I'm sure Dumbledore will come to that conclusion eventually. Actually, he'll probably ask us about it."

"And the sooner they make the oath, the better," said Alex. No clarification was needed as to which oath; it was the same one the Founders themselves had taken, an immensely powerful and binding piece of magic that still haunted Salazar for his betrayal. "I definitely doubt they'll be doing it before summer of '77, with James the pig-headed prat he is now—" at this, Godric gave a sharp "Hey!"— "but hopefully the werewolf incident will change things."

"Indeed," agreed Helga. "Those four Marauders are some of the strongest-willed and most loyal people I've seen in quite a while, but they really do need to grow up."

Various noises of agreement were heard in response.

"Well, we'll do our best," said Godric with finality. "We can give them little hints and clues—" the Ravenclaw sisters nodded; that was one of the things they did best— "but we can't beat Voldemort for them. We're not all-powerful, after all."

Paul Gryffindor couldn't resist a parting shot. "Yeah, what would be the fun in that?"

Back in the real world, Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger arrived in the Headmaster's office. To them, no time had passed during their trip.

It was going to be an interesting life. After all, they weren't going back. Ever.

* * *

Harry Potter sat with his friends around the fire in the Gryffindor common room. Everyone had gone from Dumbledore's office straight to Gryffindor Tower, not in the mood to do much else; the true fact of where they were would take a while to sink in, and nobody felt much like talking at the moment.

_Back at Hogwarts. I never thought I'd see the place again._ Harry sighed; it was nice to be able to actually _relax_ for any given amount of time, especially in the one place he could really call "home." _Voldemort doesn't even know we exist yet,_ he thought with a smile.

And he would get to see the people he cared about most in the world, the people he had loved and lost during the war. _Dumbledore's alive! And my parents! And Sirius!_ Harry could barely suppress a bursting grin. _It's before sixth year, so my dad is probably still a big-headed git, but Sirius just ran away from home. . . maybe that'll help? Who knows._

_Really, I don't much want to leave. It's nice here. Calm, without Voldemort chasing us. And we don't actually have to _do _anything._ They couldn't, really; if they destroyed a Horcrux while here, it could have devastating impacts on the future.

_Maybe I'll be able to just be normal for once,_ thought Harry. Then he realized what he was thinking and snorted. "Normal" was a word that would probably never apply to any of the Potters.

_We can still do research, though. . . I wonder how long until Hermione brings that one up?_

"Erm. . . Harry?"

_Right on target._

"Yes, Hermione?"

"I was wondering, well, we have three weeks here where we won't be doing much. We could probably find out some information on the Objects-That-Must-Not-Be-Named if we looked." The moniker had been coined by Ginny in exasperation at their inability to find any books that even _mentioned_ the things; the word "Horcrux" seemed to be even more taboo than "Voldemort".

"Well," mused Harry, "there might be some books in the Restricted Section of this time. Or Dumbledore might know something—but if we ask him about Horcruxes, he'll either think we're really Dark or he'll make the obvious connection to Voldemort, which he can't because we know he didn't until our second year. . ."

"Don't you just _love_ time travel?" asked Ginny mock-seriously in response to Harry's growing confusion. "Some birthday present I got—seeing my boyfriend confused for once!" They all broke out laughing, more to defuse the tension than anything else. Not changing the future was going to be _really_ hard to keep up.

"Anyway, though, I'm sure we can find some stuff," Harry went on. "There's bound to be some good books about the Founders, I bet, plus we could all stand to learn some more Defense. Voldemort's not going to play nice, you know."

Impressively, Ron gave no sign of distress at the name. "Sounds good, but tomorrow, mate. I'm knackered."

Ron _did_ look tired, and Harry was sure he did too; who knew time-travelling took so much out of you? "Well, I'm off to bed," he said. "Good night, Ginny, Hermione."

He walked up the stairs to the seventh-year boys' dormitory and plopped down on the closest bed. There were so many thoughts swirling through his head that he really didn't know what to think; here he was, twenty-one years in the past and unsure if he would ever get home.

Then reality of it finally hit him like a Bludger to the head. _I'M REALLY IN THE PAST! I'M GOING TO SEE MY PARENTS!_

And then, a more sobering thought: _But they don't know me. And they can't, because it would change the future. And my dad's a git at this point in his life._

_They won't really be my parents. But maybe they'll be my friends._ And that would be a comfort.

_Until we go back home. If we even can._ There were so many uncertainties at the moment. Harry knew that if it was up to him, he would never leave this time; he knew just as well that he could never ask that of Ginny, and Ron, and Hermione, because they had families back home, people who loved them, whereas Harry only had the three people who had come with him . . .

Then he thought of his nobility streak in the wake of Dumbledore's death and grimaced. _I really was being stupid, breaking up with Ginny like that. What was I thinking? We love each other!_ Thankfully, Harry had recognized his mistake ten times over during his required week at the Dursleys', and upon his arrival at the Burrow, he had been quite ready to ask—rather shamefacedly—for her to accept him back.

Ginny had agreed, very enthusiastically. The thought of that "agreement" still brought a smile to Harry's face.

And Harry had told Ginny everything—about the Horcruxes, the prophecy, the job ahead of them.

And Ginny had understood everything, and really wanted to help.

_I'm surrounded by people who care about me. Really, truly, care about me._

It was a comforting thought; Harry had come to realize he would never get through this alone, and he would need all the help he could get. _I suppose this is what Dumbledore meant by the "power the Dark Lord knows not". . ._

_And I _will _get through this. With all my friends intact._

_And if we can't go back, maybe I can end this war for good._

Harry's thoughts became more and more abstract as he dozed off.

_That would be nice._

And with that, Harry fell asleep.

* * *

(A/N: And we're off!

The Founders' Castle came from the Dangerverse. Thanks to Anne (whydoyouneedtoknow) for beta'ing this chapter.

The Marauders and Letha will be next chapter, as will Danger (amidst a REALLY big shock for Hermione—August 17, anyone?).

Things are going to get much worse before they get better. We _are_ in the middle of a war, after all.

I plan to bring this fic through October 31, 1981 (and that date will have a different significance in this universe). It's going to be _long_, folks. Hopefully, I'll be able to finish the thing!

This is my first fic, so please try to be constructive with your reviews. I welcome questions and suggestions about where the story should go next; I do have an outline, but nothing much is set in stone yet.

Okay, now click that purple button and REVIEW!)


	2. The Butterfly Effect

(A/N: For those who still don't understand, the trio and Ginny travelled to their own past—everything before August 11, 1976, happened the same in both universes. However, things are going to start changing really fast, starting now. . .)

* * *

**Chapter 2: The Butterfly Effect**.

Gertrude Granger, known as Danger to her friends, walked home contentedly, having spent the past three hours at her favorite haunt—the local library. Darkness had already shrouded the peaceful, cookie-cutter suburban town of Little Whinging, but it was no cause for concern.

_Why would I be worried about the dark?_ she wondered. _There's nothing in this town that would ever hurt me. Just a bunch of old gossip-mongers, some shops, a small school . . . there's nothing remotely exciting here. Really, this town is _too _perfect sometimes. My only friends are the books I read._

But Danger wouldn't have traded her life for anything. Sure, she didn't have any close friends, but she had a wonderful, loving family that never had really fallen on hard times. There would be time enough for the other stuff later.

_Then why do I feel so apprehensive about turning this last corner to my house?_

Danger stood just before the corner of Wisteria Walk and Privet Drive, and felt an indescribable urge to just run away, run and never witness the horror that she was about to find. . .

_What am I doing being so melodramatic? Come on, Gertrude, it's just your house._

And with that, she turned the corner—and gasped at what she saw. There were a few people milling about in front of her house, and a huge sickly green image of a skull and snake above it. Danger rushed home, pushing people aside, throwing the door open and not bothering to close it, not really caring about anything except making sure her parents were safe—the parents she loved and cherished more than anything else in the world.

They weren't.

She found them there, in the living room. They looked so peaceful, lying there, Danger thought at first that they were sleeping.

Then she noticed the expressions of horror on each of their faces, and ran over to check for a pulse. None. She checked again and again, more and more frantic, looking for breathing, movement, _any_ sign of _life_.

None.

Danger fell to her knees between her parents and screamed, a loud, plaintive wail that seemed to just go on and on. The windows in front of the house shattered, as did several of the streetlamps outside. But Danger was heedless of this, did not even notice the destruction her anguish had wreaked—she could think of only one thing.

_My parents. The two people who meant the world to me. Rose and David Granger, the best, most loving, most loyal people in the world._

_Dead. Gone. Never coming back._

She collapsed on the floor, sobbing.

The observers outside left quietly. Even they weren't insensitive enough to intrude upon such a horrible scene.

And hundreds of miles away, in a small room off the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts, an enchanted quill scratched out a name, address, and two dates.

_Gertrude Kelly Granger, 17 August 1976. 17 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. 4 December 1960._

* * *

The first week after the four's arrival in the past passed in a haze of research, studying, and (for Harry) occasional spell practice in the Room of Requirement. The presence in this time period of so many people who had died at Voldemort's hand seemed to serve as a catalyst for him, a sort of reminder of why he was fighting. It gave Harry a seemingly inexhaustible determination to prepare all he could.

Hermione, for her part, had taken up researching the Founders. She actually discovered quite a lot of information about them, but nothing on their artifacts other than the ones already known—Gryffindor's sword, Hufflepuff's cup, and Slytherin's locket. Whatever Ravenclaw may have owned, nobody seemed to have thought it worth mentioning.

Most interesting by far, though, was a passage from the creatively titled _The Founders of Hogwarts_ regarding the founders' abilities: "Each of the four Founders of Hogwarts was well-known for a particular magical talent passed down through their bloodlines. Gryffindor could control fire, shaping it to do his will, and even when unconscious he was never burned. Ravenclaw had a Healing power marked by a blue aura; she could heal nearly any injury, but serious ones were extremely tiring. Most notably, she used her power to heal an entire class burned by a rampaging dragon, and was bedridden for nearly a month afterwards, with stress-induced white hair for the rest of her life. (It is believed that this incident had a hand in the creation of the school's motto.)

"Helga Hufflepuff's talents lay in Herbology; she could cause plants to grow with a thought and a touch, even on very large scales. Finally, Salazar Slytherin, as most already know, could speak to snakes, an ability known as Parseltongue and to this day falsely connected with the Dark.

"The founders' talents remained in their bloodlines except in 'very special circumstances', in the words of Gryffindor; nobody really knows just what those circumstances are. Not all blood Heirs of the Founders are immediately identifiable, though; a Ravenclaw heir with an aversion to Healing would probably never discover her gift, nor would a Hufflepuff heir with an aversion to plants, and Gryffindor's power often wreaked so much havoc for youngsters that it was bound by a family member soon after birth, to be unbound when the child reached majority . . ."

August 18, 1976, started the same as every day had since their arrival, with the four teens eating breakfast in the Great Hall. Dumbledore was there, as were some of the teachers—McGonagall, Flitwick, and a couple Harry didn't recognize—but the vast majority of the staff wouldn't be arriving for another week or so.

Hermione read the _Daily Prophet_ over breakfast, as usual; she had taken out a subscription the morning after they arrived, claiming she needed to get up to speed with the news of this time.

"It's horrible," she said. "Another attack. I swear, this is even worse than our sixth year was. Voldemort's forces are in full swing."

"You're right," said Harry. "I never realized how bad it was. I guess I can understand a bit better now why people idolize me so much." He grinned wryly. "Not that I like it."

"And—" But what Hermione was going to say, the other three never found out, for at that moment she emitted a terrified squeak and started breathing heavily. "No, no, no. Oh my God. Oh my God. Please tell me I did _NOT_ just read that." Her hand shook as she handed the paper to Harry, who scanned the article she indicated: ". . . attack on a Muggle village . . . Little Whinging, Surrey . . . three houses attacked . . . Rose and David Granger were killed . . ."

Harry's heart sank. He passed the article to Ginny and Ron, who read it and assumed the same expression he was now wearing—one of mingled shock and horror. "Could they . . . could they have been some other Grangers?" asked Ron timidly.

"No," said Hermione; it seemed to take a great effort for her to even say the one word. "Those were my parents. Rose and David." She broke out in tears. "How did this happen? We didn't change anything!" Harry stood up and walked to Dumbledore, article in hand; he was wondering the same thing. Ron and Ginny stayed to try to provide Hermione some measure of comfort.

It seemed to take an age for Harry to reach the Head Table. "Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Well, sir, Hermione was reading the _Daily Prophet_, about the attacks, and— and one of them was on her house. Her parents were both killed." Harry offered Dumbledore the article; Dumbledore took it and read it gravely.

"My condolences on her loss. Events such as this one have plagued us for years, but that makes it no easier when those closest to one's heart are the ones affected.

"I suppose you're wondering how this happened, since by your expression it didn't in your time?"

"Yes, Professor. I don't understand— we didn't change anything, and— and—"

"Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore gravely, "I believe you have just discovered, in the worst possible way, the reason why no way has been found to send people forward in time. Your mere presence here has changed events, even in spite of your keeping a low profile. Events have so many causes, Mr. Potter, that it is often impossible to identify the results of one's actions, or even one's presence. If I understand correctly, a Muggle author has referred to this phenomenon as the 'butterfly effect'."

"So we can't go back, sir?" Harry didn't seem too displeased at the prospect.

"I will continue to research the possibilities," said Dumbledore, "but no, I do not believe you will be able to return to your own time. Nor should you expect events to play out exactly as you may remember them, though your knowledge of the future will probably prove useful in other ways."

"Okay, then," said Harry. "Thank you, Professor. I'll go tell the others." And with that, he walked back to the Gryffindor table.

Hermione seemed to have calmed down a bit by the time he arrived, although she was still sniffling. "I know they're not really my parents in _this_ time," she said, "but they always cared for me, even when they didn't exactly understand what was going on at Hogwarts. . . . It's just so hard knowing two more of the people I love are dead—but it's easier when the other three are sitting next to me." She looked at Harry. "Did Dumbledore say how it happened?"

"Yeah, he did," said Harry. "He called it the 'butterfly effect' or something. Basically, the mere fact that we're here is causing the changes—I didn't really understand it, but there you go."

Hermione seemed to understand, though. "I've heard about that. A butterfly flapping its wings could create a tornado halfway around the world, or something. It's quite interesting."

Ron was the first to ask the question that seemed to be on everyone's minds. "So how are we going to get home?"

"I'm guessing that we aren't," said Hermione sadly. "I assume this is why Dumbledore said it was so hard to undo time travel—I mean, we haven't consciously changed _anything_ yet, and something as big as this happens."

"That's what Dumbledore said," affirmed Harry, "although he did also say he'd keep looking. He didn't sound like he expected to find anything, though."

"We can't go back?" asked Ginny in a very small voice. Suddenly, Harry realized how hard this must be for her and Ron. They both were part of a huge, loving family, and they probably wouldn't ever see them again . . .

Harry moved over and drew Ginny into a tight embrace. "No, Gin, I think we're here to stay. And I'm sorry you got dragged into this, I know how much you must miss your family . . ."

Ginny looked up at him with a weary smile. "If you were going to go off and disappear anyway, Harry Potter, I'm glad I got the chance to disappear with you. It'll just take some getting used to, that's all."

"Thanks. I'm glad to have you here, too, you know. All of you. I can't do this alone."

* * *

After breakfast, Dumbledore returned to his office to think. He had half-expected something like this to happen—some event to occur unexplicably differently—but that didn't make it any less of a shock.

_To be honest with myself, I have little hope of finding a way to get these four back home. There are some things that simply cannot be done._

_And from their expressions, they already understand that. I certainly wish all my seventh-years were so forward-thinking; the amount of time the new four have spent in the library has dwarfed all expectations._ Dumbledore wondered for a moment what was causing such behavior.

_They are determined,_ he realized. _They have a mission, and they have every intention of completing it successfully—and working as hard as they must to achieve that._

_I can only wonder what things were like in their time to cause this. All four of them are old beyond their years._

But Dumbledore's musings were soon to be interrupted. As soon as he set foot in his office, he was greeted by the ringing of the little bell connected to the Hogwarts Quill—the enchanted quill that recorded the name and address of every magical child in the British Isles. At first, Dumbledore paid it little mind; it rang, on average, every nine days, and while interesting, it was not anything that required immediate attention.

But when the bell continued to ring after a few seconds, he realized something more was at work.

Curiosity piqued, Dumbledore walked through a hidden door into the small side chamber containing the quill and regarded the last entry on the list with interest.

_Gertrude Granger. Probably a late awakening caused by her parents' deaths; they are rumored to occur occasionally, though I have never known of one personally._

_And she is grieving, and her magic is unstable. Much as I hate to intrude upon her already shattered life, she _needs _to know what has happened._

With that thought, Dumbledore walked back into his office, grabbed one of Fawkes' tail feathers, and was whisked away to the backyard of number seventeen, Privet Drive.

When he opened his eyes, the wise Professor was met with the classic suburban backyard—well-kept, clean, and bereft of anything really interesting.

Except for that young woman lying desolately in the grass.

Dumbledore approached her quietly. "Excuse me, are you Miss Gertrude Granger?"

She didn't turn her head, didn't open her eyes, didn't give any sign of acknowledgement except a weak and monotonous, "Yes, I am."

"Could you sit up and look at me, please? I have something important to tell you, and I need your full attention."

She acquiesced, it seemed, with an effort, turning to look at Dumbledore with deadened eyes. "Okay, I'm looking at you. Now _what_ in God's name is so important that you have to barge into my bloody backyard to tell me about it! In case you didn't know, my parents both were killed last night! I think I deserve some time to grieve!" Her tone had changed quickly from apathetic to angry.

"Please, calm yourself. I shall be quick, then, and leave you to yourself, since that is what you wish. Do you believe in magic, Miss Granger?"

This seemed to have sparked her interest, though only for a moment. "I didn't, sir. Not until last night. When my parents died. There was this huge green snake skull thing above the house, and the way they had died— it looked like they were just sleeping, so, so _peaceful_, just laying there, but they— they weren't— they were—" Tears came to her eyes in memory, and she was unable to finish the sentence.

"Magic _does_ exist, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore with a comforting half-smile. "I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am terribly sorry that your first encounter with magic was so tragic, but please believe me when I say that most of us are good people."

"Thank God," said the young woman; she did seem to be comforted by the information. "I was so confused. At least now I understand what happened." She paused for a second, then looked straight at Dumbledore with a piercing gaze. "Do you know _who_ killed my parents?"

"I do not," said Dumbledore sadly, "except that he, or they, were servants of the Dark Lord Voldemort, who is waging a terrible and vicious terror war on our world. The servants are called Death Eaters; the image you saw above your house is their sign, called the Dark Mark."

"And is there any way to tell these Death Eaters apart from other wizards?" She spoke with a forced calm.

"Sadly, none that we know of, apart from their beliefs and evil actions."

"Thank you, Professor." Her voice suddenly turned angry. "And if I ever find out who it was that did this, I'll— I'll— I'LL KILL THEM FOR WHAT THEY DID TO MY PARENTS!" she screamed. She collapsed, breathing heavily.

"Gertrude—"

"Danger, please."

"Danger, then," began Dumbledore, considering his words carefully, "I will not say I understand your grief, for I do not; nobody does, except you. But I do know that it does not do to dwell on this to the extent that it drowns out everything else. Grieve, but do not stop living your life—"

"My parents _were_ my life, _Professor_," sobbed Danger. "And now they're _gone_. And I don't feel like I have anything left." She looked up. "No friends, no boyfriend—just me and my perfectly _ordinary_ life that doesn't really seem to mean so much anymore without the only two people who ever cared for me in it."

"Danger," said Dumbledore placatingly, "do you really think I would have come here only to tell you why your parents died?"

Danger considered it for a second. "No," she said, "I suppose not."

"In any event, I _do_ have more to tell you, and it is certainly better news," explained Dumbledore. "Normally, witches and wizards are born—you either are a witch or you aren't. Occasionally, however, one's powers can surface in the wake of a traumatic event—"

"A 'traumatic event'? Like finding your parents dead in the living room?" Danger's expression was inscrutable.

"Exactly. I came here, first and foremost, because your name appeared this morning on the register of magical children in Britain. As such, you have a place at Hogwarts, should you wish to take it."

Danger's mood changed in an instant. "Could I, Professor? It would be perfect; I could get away from here, concentrate on something else for once, something _important_, and I. . ."

She trailed off, not really wanting to say what she had thought, but Dumbledore guessed it anyway. "And you could join the fight against Voldemort? Of course that would be a motivation, Danger, and there is no need to be ashamed of it," he said, eyes twinkling.

"So it's settled then," affirmed Danger with finality. "I'm going with you. Could I just have a few minutes to get my things from the house?"

"Of course, Danger. Take all the time you like."

Danger disappeared into the now-vacant house at a run.

_I am amazed at how well she has taken this,_ thought Dumbledore.

_Though perhaps I shouldn't be. She has intelligence and drive, and I've given her a path to follow when she believed none existed. I wonder what Hermione will make of her?_

_In any case, I have no doubt that she will do great things in our world._

Danger emerged from her house five minutes later, carrying a trunk with all her clothes and some money. She had placed her parents' wedding rings on a chain around her neck. As she walked, she placed one hand to it, as if steeling herself for something, then said firmly, "I'm ready. Let's go."

Dumbledore called for Fawkes, and the unlikely pair returned to Hogwarts in a brilliant flash of flame.

* * *

That afternoon, the four time-travellers were relaxing in the Gryffindor common room, a couple to each couch, when Danger walked in. Hermione immediately stood up to greet her.

"Hello, I'm Hermione Granger. What's your name?"

Danger seemed to be quite surprised at Hermione's last name. "Gertrude Granger, but you can call me—"

"Danger?" asked Hermione before she could stop herself. She had vague memories of her older sister Gertrude, whom she used to see over the holidays sometimes before she got her Hogwarts letter. . . she didn't _know_ her all that well, but she knew _of_ her. And she knew she wasn't a witch. _What more have I changed?_

Danger nodded, eyes wide. "How did you know? And are we related or something?"

Hermione sighed. _Now why did I have to go and shoot my mouth off like that? I won't be able to explain this one away too easily . . ._ "Come over here and sit down, it's a long story." Danger did so. "Am I right in guessing you've never been to Hogwarts before?" _There, redirect the conversation on her._

"Yep, first time here," said Danger. "Last night, I came home, only to find the . . . Dark Mark, was it? above my house. And, well— you can probably guess what I found inside." Her voice cracked at the memory. Hermione nodded sadly; Danger took control of herself and continued to explain. "Anyway, Professor Dumbledore says he thinks the shock of it brought out my magic, or something. So now I'm here, and trying to cram four years' worth of material into two weeks so I can start my fifth year with everyone else. . . What about you?"

_Oh well, it can't work forever,_ thought Hermione. _And for some reason . . ._ "I trust you, even though we've only just met, so we will tell you—everything," she added with a pointed glance at Harry, who was sitting with Ginny and watching the Grangers' conversation with interest. "Please don't tell this to anyone else."

"Deal," Danger said, wondering what could possibly merit such secrecy.

"Anyway, the gist of it is: we're from the future, got sent back some twenty-one years in time, and we probably won't be able to go back."

_That would do it._ Danger gaped at them. "Is that how you knew my name?"

"Yes, it is," said Hermione. "I'm your sister, twenty years younger—or, as of a week ago, two years older."

"And what are your friends' names?"

Harry, Ron, and Ginny introduced themselves. "I'm the son of the two people in sixth year who hate each other the most," Harry said with a wry grin. "You'll probably figure it out the night of the Sorting Feast when they start yelling at each other."

"This is all too much," said Danger, shaking her head. "I'm going to go to the library and get to work. We can talk more tonight, and I'm sure I'll have questions about all the studying I'll be doing . . . What do I need to prepare for, anyway?"

Hermione rattled off a list of subjects. "Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, and Defense are probably the most important; Herbology, Astronomy, and History of Magic you can probably pick up during the year. Fifth year is O.W.L. year—the O.W.L.s are like the Muggle O-levels—so you _will_ need to make everything up eventually."

"I'll manage," said Danger with a smile. "And when my eyes glaze over, I'll just come in here and let you entertain me with stories about the future."

Harry grinned widely. "Works for us. Trust me, there's _plenty_ to tell." He extricated himself from Ginny, stood up, and extended his hand. "Friends?"

Danger took it. "Friends." She smiled at them and left the common room in search of (what else?) the library.

* * *

Over the course of the next two weeks, the five students settled into a routine. They would eat all their meals together in the Great Hall, study (in Danger's case) or research (in everyone else's) until three o'clock or so, then take a bit of time off for fun. (For Danger and Hermione, this "fun" often involved more reading; they were both true bookworms, although Danger did have a fair amount of wittiness to go along with it.)

Danger's magical studies were enlightening. She understood the theory well enough for Charms and Transfiguration, but putting it into practice was difficult. Ironically, it was the simplest spells that caused her the most trouble; she spent longer on _Wingardium Leviosa_ than on the Summoning Charm. Hermione had a complex theory about this relating to "age of magical awakening" and "balance between general and special magics"; nobody else understood it, including Danger.

_Reminds me of myself, to be honest,_ was Harry's opinion. _Corporeal Patronus at thirteen, and it took me weeks to learn the Summoning Charm. Who knows why?_

Potions required some work; Slughorn would be arriving on 23 August, but that was still several days away, and there was no way to get into the dungeons until then. As such, Danger didn't have any supplies or cauldrons until Harry showed her the Room of Requirement.

"She's learned more about the castle in a week than we learned in five years!" Ron complained indignantly that night.

"And she's earned it," said Hermione icily. "She's completely new here, cramming like crazy for two weeks, only found out she was a witch a week ago, when her _parents died_—or did you forget that, Ron?"

"Sorry, Hermione, you're right." Ron had learned very quickly, after he finally asked Hermione out in the wake of Dumbledore's death, that it was best not to argue too much with the bushy-haired witch.

In the two weeks before the students' arrival, Danger heard plenty about the future—among other things, the merits of Canary Creams and Ton-Tongue Toffee, which had caused plenty of laughs—and grew to know the four time-travellers as good friends. _Being in a huge castle with nobody else for company can do that to you,_ she mused idly. Even without the shared experiences that bound the trio and Ginny together, they found that they connected quite well with Danger, probably because she was just so fun to be around. And they were all misfits, in a way.

The five also met the staff as they arrived. Some, like Professor McGonagall, Harry knew from the future; some, like Professor Kettleburn (the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, whom he liked) and Professor Johnson (the Defense teacher, whom he didn't), were new. The reason for Danger's presence was not a secret, but only McGonagall and Flitwick knew about the time-travellers' time travelling. (The truth, Dumbledore believed, would only cause mass confusion, and Harry had to agree.)

On the misfits' last night of peace before the students came, Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione, and Danger relaxed and talked in the common room. Danger had finished her revision that afternoon with some work on the Whistling Charm. Ginny forswore studying for a day, claiming she was frustrated enough that she was as likely to set fire to her book as read it, and Harry and Ron quickly followed suit. Even Hermione relented—"but just this once."

"So, I daresay you'll meet some interesting people tomorrow, Danger," teased Harry late that night. "Like, say, Remus Lupin? I think the two of you would make a good match . . ."

Harry could've sworn he saw a flicker of recognition on Danger's face before she masked it.

"Three weeks ago, I might've ignored that," she said with an impish grin. "Now, though, I can do THIS!" She waved her wand, conjured a pillow, and beat Harry repeatedly over the head with it. Harry retaliated by running up to his dormitory and getting his own, and Ron and even Hermione soon followed suit. The portraits on the walls of the Gryffindor common room witnessed a pillow fight that lasted almost an hour.

When it was over, the five collapsed on sofas, chairs, pillows, pretty much whatever was closest. "I'm knackered," said Harry blearily. "I think I'll just sleep down here."

The others didn't answer, having already drifted off to sleep.

Danger woke up with a poem literally drumming in her head . . .

"_The lion's son, his lady bright,  
And hawk and cat do darkness fight,  
Saved through time by lion's kin,   
But without friends they cannot win.  
So join they will with canines two,  
The one a lion, the other—you,   
And warriors' patience guard you must,  
For, in time, dog and stag gain trust.  
And thus the pack begins to meet  
That one day will the dark defeat."_

* * *

(A/N: And here's our Danger, along with some of Dumbledore's "unforseeable consequences". . .

The character of Gertrude "Danger" Granger-Lupin belongs to Anne Walsh.

Okay, so I lied: no Marauders yet. Next chapter, "The Marauders," will contain them, I promise! Does anyone notice the symptoms of a lack of good outline? And is there anyone who really wants to see Peter?

Keep those reviews coming! I send replies to anyone who was logged in, so if you ask a question, expect an answer.)


	3. The Marauders

**Chapter 3: The Marauders**.

At around nine o'clock the next morning, Harry woke and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He opened them and was surprised to see the homey interior of the Gryffindor common room until he remembered last nights events.

_Pillow fight. That was great. We should do it more often._

Bemusedly, Harry sat up and looked around the room. Danger was sprawled out on three pillows on the floor; Ginny had fallen asleep half-sitting up next to him; and Ron and Hermione, on the couch opposite him, had apparently shifted during the night. . . _Definitely some good teasing material there,_ he thought with a grin.

A few minutes later, Danger woke with a start. "Oh, hi, Harry," she said rapidly. "I had the weirdest dream last night . . ." And was that a blush?

A few seconds later, it faded as Danger clutched her hair melodramatically. "Argh! And I dreamt this poem last night, and I can't get it out of my head!"

"Maybe you should say it, then," suggested Harry.

Danger recited the poem.

"Did that make any sense to you? It's still bothering me, maybe I should write it down . . ." Danger fled to her dormitory to do so. (She had bought her school supplies at Diagon Alley the previous weekend.)

A few minutes later, she returned, much calmer and clutching a sheet of parchment. "That seems to have done it. I have a feeling that wasn't exactly a normal dream."

Harry shook his head. "I know, but I don't know what it is. I suggest you ask your hypersmart sister when she wakes up," he said, smiling a bit but still pensive.

"I dreamed some other stuff, too," said Danger. "Some flashes of color—some orange, but always connected with the word red—flashes of people's lives, and a couplet: _Black to red and red to brown / Shall truly bring the darkness down_."

_Black to red and red to brown. . ._ Harry considered the words carefully, then looked around. "Could that be me referring to me and Ginny, and Ron and Hermione?"

"I suppose so," said Danger. "I really don't know much about it at this point."

"And what about the flashes of people's lives?"

"Well, there was a group of four—Remus, one kid that looks like you, another black-haired one, and a sort of mousy-looking one—"

"Those are the Marauders," explained Harry. "The one that looks like me is my dad, James Potter, the other black-haired one is Sirius Black, the mousy one is Peter Pettigrew. . ."

"I think what I saw was from your timeline, because it showed stuff after school—a couple of marriages, a baby—you, I think—your parents gave you a birthday party every month for six months, you know—"

Harry grinned widely at that; he always snatched whatever tidbits he could about the loving care he was sure he'd had but never remembered. "What else?"

"And then it goes all bad." Danger shivered. "One of you—Peter, was it?—goes over to the Dark. To a really evil guy who looks like a snake gone wrong."

"Yeah, that's Voldemort."

"Anyway, I think Peter had good intentions—he thought Voldemort was going to win, and he wanted to make sure his friends didn't suffer when it happened—but he just got into it too far. He never seemed like he _wanted_ to tell Voldemort things, but at times it seemed like Voldemort could read minds."

"He can, actually," said Harry with a grimace. "Or something. It's called Legilimency; he can tell when people are lying to him, hiding stuff."

Danger winced. "Well, Voldemort found out that Peter had been made the Potters' 'secret-keeper', whatever that is—"

"Fidelius Charm. Tell you later."

"—so Voldemort forced him to say where they lived. And he did. It wasn't pretty." She shuddered. "And then Voldemort attacks, your parents die, but somehow—you survive. And you grow up. And if I EVER see those people who raised you, I am going to tell them a thing or too!" Danger waved her wand threateningly.

Harry definitely appreciated her indignation on his behalf. "Feel free." He smiled. "Anything else?"

"Just flashes of your time at Hogwarts. First year, facing Voldemort out the back of someone's head; second year, in this creepy underground chamber with a phoenix against a _huge_ snake; third year, talking to Sirius—but he looked horrible—in some broken-up room; fourth year, dueling Voldemort with your wands connected to each other; fifth year, when Sirius fell through some veil; sixth year, watching this greasy-haired Death Eater blast Dumbledore off a tower at Hogwarts—" She broke off, seeing the expression on Harry's face.

Harry found it extremely odd to be hearing about his experiences from someone who didn't know any of their context. The events of his first three years of school hadn't been particularly traumatic, and Danger hadn't actually mentioned Cedric in her description of fourth year, which made it bearable—but then her casual mention of the deaths of the two people closest to him brought the pain back to the surface. He looked stricken for a momemt, then buried his face in his hands, thinking about the people he had lost.

Danger's concerned "What is it?" brought Harry back to reality. He shook his head and cleared his mind. _I'll see them again. Heck, Dumbledore I've already seen. But still . . ._ "You just mentioned the two most painful moments of my life. Seeing Sirius die, killed by his own _cousin_, and Dumbledore, killed by his Potions professor, Snape, the one person he always said he trusted—it's just all a bit much. Dumbledore's funeral was less than three months ago for me."

Danger looked mortified. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," he reassured her. "You couldn't have known. You didn't even know anyone's name until I told you." _Except Remus . . . but she's not mentioning how, and I'm not going to ask. She seems to be embarrassed about it. Was my teasing really that bad?_

"So why did I dream these things?" asked Danger.

"I don't know. Again, ask your hypersmart sister. But I have a feeling you have a part to play in whatever's going to happen, and this was to help you understand what we'd been through."

"Makes sense."

The two sat in silence for a few minutes, until Hermione opened her eyes. She apparently realized where she was lying, because she immediately jumped up, blushing.

"Sit down, Hermione, the damage is already done," said Harry, grinning wickedly.

"Oh, hush. Anyway, what are the two of you talking about that has you so upset, Harry?"

It was Danger who answered. "I had really weird dreams last night. A poem—I'll get to that later—and flashes of the Marauders' lives and Harry's. Talking with Harry confirmed that they're true. Harry said to 'ask my hypersmart sister', so I will: Any ideas?"

Hermione considered it carefully. Finally she offered, "I think you're something called a true-dreamer. They're incredibly rare, but they do exist. I guess it makes sense; because of your late awakening, you aren't as powerful in general magic—" Danger frowned, remembering her difficulties in Charms— "but you have special skills to make up for it. Quite possibly more than the true-dreaming."

"Like prophetic dreaming in bad iambic tetrameter, maybe?" Danger handed Hermione a piece of parchment half-covered with neat handwriting—the poem from the dream. Hermione took it wordlessly.

"Interesting," she said after a minute. "Very interesting. This definitely does look like a prophecy, though most don't rhyme like that. Did you hear it, or see it, or what?"

"I heard it. It was a male voice, seemed rather young. Any ideas what it means?"

Hermione scanned the parchment again. "Lots of animals . . . do you think they might be Animagus forms?"

"Animagus?" Danger sounded confused, so Hermione explained about the wizards who could transform into an animal at will. "Probably. I don't think a real hawk or cat would be fighting darkness, or that we would need to worry about trusting a real stag and dog—"

Harry cut her off. "Hold on, stag and dog? What's the line, exactly?"

"_For, in time, dog and stag gain trust_," read Hermione.

"That's it!" exclaimed Harry. "My dad and Sirius are the stag and the dog. I know they're pretty much gits at this point—this is right after Snape's worst memory," he amended, and then realized Hermione had no idea what he was talking about. "Oh, bother, I'll explain later. I guess this means something will happen that makes us trust them, or makes them grow up, but we have to be patient."

Hermione was nodding. "And my form is a cat—I don't know the transformation, but I've done the scrying spell—and I guess Ron's might be a hawk, it seems fitting somehow . . ."

"And 'saved through time' is you guys," said Danger. "I wonder who the 'canines two' are?"

"Well," said Hermione, "they're people we'll make friends with right away, so that rules out James and Sirius. One is you, Danger, it says that plain as day. The other is both a dog and a lion—huh?"

"Werewolf with an Animagus form, maybe?" suggested Harry.

"That'd be it!" exclaimed Hermione. "Remus! I guess he's a lion Animagus!"

_Interesting that Danger doesn't seem surprised by the revelation that Remus a werewolf._

"Well, that's it, then," said Harry. "We don't know any of the rest of it. And I thought of something last night, Hermione—in this timeline, your parents are dead before you'll be born, so how do you exist?"

"But in the timeline we came from, I existed just fine. Think about it, Harry—what would happen if you went back in time an hour and told your future self not to go back?"

Harry thought for a few seconds and concluded, "There'd be two of me?"

"Exactly," said Hermione. "Wizards are incredibly superstitious about time. There's no such thing as a 'temporal paradox', because a paradox by definition can't exist. Although there's probably something I'm missing, I know we don't have to worry about erasing ourselves or anything."

"That's a relief," said Harry. "Let's go to breakfast. I'm starved."

Danger and Hermione agreed. "Oh, Ro-on," sing-songed Hermione. "We're going to breakfast! If you don't wake up, you'll miss it!"

Ron, who had been snoring loudly a minute ago, woke up instantly.

* * *

Meanwhile, at Potter Manor, two very popular, very good-looking, and _very_ mischeivous boys were waking up as well. Their propensity for sleep was as legendary as Ron's, but that wasn't going to be causing any problems today; today, September 1, 1976, their sixth year at Hogwarts began.

James Potter, a hazel-eyed, bespectacled boy with very messy black hair, was the first to rise, and he immediately set to work waking up his friend. "C'mon, Padfoot! Get up! We're going to Hogwarts!" he yelled, shaking him.

The object of all this excitement, Sirius Black, James' best friend and the proverbial white sheep of his very Dark family, simply rolled over as if to shield himself from the light, muttering something suspiciously like "five more minutes."

James grinned wickedly. "Padfoot, if you're not up in ten seconds, it's the water bucket for you . . ."

Sirius didn't seem to hear. Ten seconds passed with no reaction, so James grabbed his wand and waved it at him. "_Aguamenti!_" The ice-cold water had the desired effect: Sirius woke up very quickly. However, it also made Sirius quite upset with James—good-naturedly upset, but upset all the same.

And it certainly seemed that James had forgotten the damage a large wet dog could do.

Sirius jumped off his bed, transforming mid-jump into the big black Grim-like dog that was his Animagus form, and Padfoot started shaking himself as soon as he hit the ground. Water splattered everywhere in the room and especially on James. "Enough! Enough!" James yelled, laughing. "You win!"

Padfoot transformed back into Sirius. "That was fun."

"For you, maybe," scowled James as he muttered a drying charm. "But seriously, we have to pack. Train leaves in an hour and a half."

"Fine," Sirius grumbled, and the two boys got to work.

* * *

An hour later, James, Sirius, and James's parents Charles and Paige pulled up at King's Cross Station in a Ministry car. Charles Potter was an Auror, and quite a successful one at that; use of the car was one of his benefits.

As Sirius got out of the car and grabbed his trunk (his parents had refused to allow him a familiar after he was sorted into Gryffindor), he couldn't help but reflect on the turn for the better his life had taken over the past month.

_End of July, Mother just snapped. Told me I wasn't fit to be a Black, and that if I wasn't going to 'shape up' I could just get out of the house. When she threatened to Imperius me, I realized that might actually be a good idea._

_So I went to James's place and his parents sort of adopted me—not officially, just caring for me and letting me stay there and stuff._ Sirius never had told James how much it meant to him, but it did mean a lot.

_And maybe there are more important things for us to be worrying about than pranks . . ._

Sirius quashed that thought instinctively; the Marauders' troublemaking had kept him sane through his family's hatred of him, and he wasn't about to stop now. _It's too much fun._

James and Sirius rounded the corner to platforms 9 and 10, looked around furtively for any overly curious Muggles, and finding none, immediately broke into a run straight for the very solid-looking barrier between the platforms. They passed through without a scratch onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters—and were almost immediately accosted by Remus.

Remus Lupin, "Moony" to the Marauders, didn't have all that many friends in the world. This was as much his doing as anyone else's; Remus was a werewolf, had been since he was six, and he always seemed to assume the worst about people's reactions. As such, he had never dated, never had a girlfriend, never even really allowed himself to have close friends—except the Marauders, and they had found out about his lycanthropy themselves, confronted him with it, and told him they didn't care. That meant more to Remus than he had ever said, and he had said a lot about it, but it didn't change his views about the rest of the world.

Forcing these pessimistic thoughts from his mind, Remus ran and greeted his friends. "Hi, Padfoot, Prongs. How was your summer?" They had exchanged letters, of course, but some things just had to be told face-to-face.

"Fine for me," said James (Prongs). "Played some Quidditch with Padfoot, did the bare minimum amount of homework, managed to generally amuse myself . . . and get showered with water when I tried to wake up Padfoot today." He leveled a mock glare at Sirius as he finished.

"And you, Sirius?"

"Ran away."

"WHAT?"

"Ran away," he repeated. "Dear old Mum pretty much threw me out, actually. Said I wasn't fit to be a Black, threatened to Imperius me if I didn't start behaving . . . it was too much for me to take. James's folks were great, though, they practically adopted me."

"Well, it's probably better that you're out of there, anyway," commiserated Remus. "I can't count the number of times you used to complain about them . . ."

"Ah, ah, Moony." Sirius wagged his finger like a parent with a naughty child. "I can _still_ complain about them. They've been idiots enough for a lifetime of complaints."

"Fair enough," said Remus with a mild laugh.

"I just wish Regulus had gotten out of there too." Sirius sighed. His brother, Regulus, only a year younger than him, had been as receptive to his family's prejudices as Sirius wasn't, in spite of all Sirius's attempts to get him to see the truth. He was a good Slytherin, friends with Snape, and Sirius was pretty sure his brother was on the fast track to be a Death Eater.

_I really doubt he knows what he's getting into. Regulus has never been the evil sort. Not like my cousin Bellatrix, Lestrange now, the most sadistic Death Eater b— er, witch, you've ever seen . . ._

_I tried to get through to him, I really did. For a while I thought it was working, but now he just tunes me out._ Sirius really wanted to punch something, but refrained; they _were_ still on the platform.

James broke the silence. "Have you heard from Wormtail at all the past few weeks, Moony?"

Remus shook his head. "Not since the eighth. I wonder why; he usually writes at least once a week . . . Do you think something _happened_?"

With the emphasis Remus put on the word 'happened', it was impossible not to know what he was talking about; Death Eater attacks had increased dramatically over the summer, and everyone lived in fear that their family would be next. Nobody referred to them, except obliquely, but they were on everyone's mind.

"Nah, I doubt it," said James nonchalantly. "You know Wormtail. Probably found something 'exciting' to do and forgot all about writing."

_I wish he would give Peter a bit more credit,_ Remus thought irritably. _He's as much our friend as the others._

_Still, I can't say he doesn't deserve the jokes. . . sometimes._

James looked up and gave his signature lopsided grin; Lily Evans was approaching them. A vivacious, pretty, Muggle-born witch with red hair and distinctive green eyes, she had been the object of James's affections since third year—and had just as steadfastly hated his rather arrogant attitude for just as long.

"Hey there, Evans. How was your summer?" James's voice suddenly sounded deeper, more mature. _He's using his 'charm' again,_ realized Remus in frustration. _How long until he realizes it's not getting him anywhere?_

"None of your business, Potter." Lily leveled a glare—her temper was as fiery as her hair—then turned her head and walked right past him. "I still haven't forgotten what you did to Snape after your O.W.L. last year."

James sighed and shook his head as Lily walked away. "What is it with her?" he asked Sirius.

It was Remus, though, who answered. "She doesn't like your arrogance. Stop trying to impress her and just _be yourself_—maybe you'll have more luck."

"I wasn't asking _you_, O Exalted Guru of Relationships. Padfoot?"

"You're hopeless, mate."

"Gee, thanks." James walked towards the gleaming red Hogwarts Express. "I'm getting on the train. Coming?"

Three Marauders, three trunks, and two owls made their way on board.

When they reached the very last compartment, they found Peter already sitting inside, looking glum but determined—completely opposite of his normal excitable, clumsy attitude. _What happened?_ The three other Marauders entered the compartment and stowed their luggage appropriately. Remus took out his wand and tapped the upper-left hand corner of the window, saying "_Molesti dei sunt._"

The compartment ballooned to twice its normal size, with enough room for all four to lie down comfortably. Three astonished gazes met Remus's eyes; he chuckled.

After a few seconds, James managed to get some words out. "When'd you set _that_ up?"

"Train ride back, last term." Remus was still smiling. "You guys were asleep."

"And what did the password mean?" asked Peter. _That's a first; he's never seemed remotely interested in that stuff before . . ._

"Latin for 'Marauders are gods'. Figured you guys wouldn't object."

Sirius expressed the opinion of all: "You're the best, Moony!"

Everyone made themselves comfortable. James was the first to speak. "So, Peter, spill."

"What do you mean?"

"What's up? We haven't heard from you for three weeks, you're not on the platform, and you look really different—you seem more determined, or something. Why?" James sounded worried.

Peter studied his fingernails rather intently. "My dad was a Death Eater. I didn't know, until one day—the 15th, I think it was—I woke up to find his dead body in the living room, with a note attached. _Thus always to those who defy me_, I think it said. Apparently he did something stupid and You-Know-Who killed him."

The three other Marauders wore stricken expressions. They may have been jokers, but even they had some sense of tact. "Oh, Peter, I'm so sorry," said Sirius.

"I'm fine. I've had time to grieve, and he wasn't exactly the best dad—he used to fight with me and my mom a lot, you know, basically arguing You-Know-Who's side. But still, I mean—he was my dad, you know? And I know he loved me, at least at one point."

Nobody knew what to say.

Finally, Peter spoke again. "I have his ring, his wedding ring. He stopped wearing it a few years back, around the same time all of this started—too much of a "taint" or something ridiculous. My mom gave it to me after he died. I think she hoped it would let me remember how he was before. I'm keeping it. And now I know just what kind of first-class bastard You-Know-Who is."

Silence again permeated the compartment. Nothing like this had ever happened. Sirius's parents were Dark, sure, but they didn't really have any redeeming qualities either. James and Remus were both only children with loving parents; they had never even considered that they might someday lose them. Other people, sure, but not _them_.

"Anyone for Exploding Snap?" asked Sirius cheerfully, getting out a pack of cards.

* * *

Professor McGonagall came personally to the Gryffindor common room that evening. While unusual, this event was not entirely unexpected by the common room's occupants.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall," said Harry, looking up from the game of chess he was losing with Ron. "Here to escort us for the Sorting?"

"Indeed," she said sternly. "Follow me, please." The Professor led the five misfits out the portrait hole and through the halls. As they walked, she whispered to Harry, "Professor Dumbledore has informed me of your _situation_, and if you need anything feel free to see him or me. He told me to tell you you may tell those whom you trust."

"There's no need to whisper, Professor. Danger knows, and we trust her."

"Danger?"

"The non-time-traveling Granger's nickname."

The five were ushered into the same room they had waited in as first-years; Professor McGonagall was speaking again. "The wall there—" she pointed to it— "is illusory. Please wait behind it until you hear the first years enter the Hall. Now, I must be off to welcome them. Good luck." She left the room with a flourish.

Harry stepped through the wall first, and was surprised to see a slightly cramped but still comfortable sitting room, with several chairs facing the wall he had just walked through. "You can come through, guys, it's fine." He was soon joined by the four others; they all chose a chair and sat in it.

Ten minutes later, Harry heard Professor McGonagall making her customary speech. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she said to the first years in her best lecturing tone. "As new students here, you will soon be Sorted into your Houses. There are four—Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff, each with its own characteristics, and each has produced wizards and witches of great caliber."

Ron snorted. "Not Slytherin," he muttered.

"Shush, Ron, they can probably hear you," admonished Hermione.

Ron shut up.

Professor McGonagall continued her speech, discussing the House system and House points. Finally, she concluded, "The Sorting Feast will begin in a few minutes. I suggest you all do a bit to smarten yourselves up until then. When the doors to the Great Hall open, please walk through them. I will be seeing you shortly." She could be heard walking away.

"Remember when we were ickle firsties?" whispered Harry remniscently.

"Yeah," said Ron perhaps a bit too loudly, but the first years were still chattering like mad. "And Fred and George were going on about wrestling a troll, and Hermione was reciting all the spells she knew and making us feel stupid . . . Ah, memories."

"What about _your_ sorting, Ginny?" asked Harry. "I don't think you've ever told me about it."

Ginny blushed a little. "Well, I think I was more concerned with getting in Gryffindor with Harry Potter than anything else." Harry smiled at her. "But I do remember, Luna was practically the only one not worried. She just said, 'What will come, will come,' or something. It calmed us all down a bit."

"And there's our cue," said Harry as he heard the doors grate open. "Let's go."

"Wait a minute," said Hermione. "We don't want to frighten the firsties by appearing out of nowhere."

They waited the requested minute, then stepped out into the waiting room just in time to hear the end of the Sorting Hat's song: "For Hogwarts is in danger," (Danger snickered) "From external, deadly foes. But let that pass, come try me on, I'll know where you should be; Just step right up, slip on the Hat, and leave the rest to me!" The Hall applauded, but Harry noticed James Potter giving him an odd look from the Gryffindor table.

_I expected as much; he's probably freaking out over our similarities._ Harry met James's gaze and gave him a wink, as if to say, _Wait and see_.

The first-years were duly called in alphabetical order; Harry didn't recognize any names until "Zabini, Richard!" _Must be a relative of Blaise's._ Richard went to "SLYTHERIN!" same as his nephew, or whatever the relation was, and Dumbledore stood up. The Hall went silent.

"Excellent. Now that all our first years have been sorted, I have the unconventional pleasure of welcoming five older students—one fifth, one sixth, and three seventh years. One is a latent witch whose powers burst out in the wake of her parents' deaths; the other four were victims of a Death Eater attack that destroyed their hometown. Please do endeavor to make them feel welcome here."

This was their cue; the five walked into the Hall in a line. Dumbledore sat down and McGonagall came forward again. The Sorting Hat was still on its stool. "When I call your name," she recited, "please step forward and put on the hat."

"Granger, Gertrude!" she called.

At the name, a dark-skinned girl named Aletha Freeman, a Gryffindor fifth-year, gasped, "Danger?" She got some odd looks from the people around her.

Danger walked forward, sat on the stool, and put the Sorting Hat on her head. "_Hmm, an interesting one. There's intelligence here, certainly, and a willingness to work to get things done . . . and not a pittance of cunning, too, I see. You'd make a good Hufflepuff, but I think I'll put you with your friends in—_ GRYFFINDOR!" She walked to the Gryffindor table, grinning—then she noticed Aletha and her grin doubled in size.

"Granger, Hermione!" was almost immediately sorted into Gryffindor; then it was Harry's turn. "Potter, Harry!"

As Harry walked forward, James looked around at his friends. "He looks just like me!" he muttered. "Heck, he's practically my twin! I wonder where he'll go . . ."

The Sorting Hat had some choice words for Harry. "_Ah, the second one. I don't think I've had a double Sorting in two hundred years. Hm . . . I see I recommended Slytherin for you last time, but it doesn't much fit anymore. You just want this war to be over—admirable, indeed, and you have the power to do it. With your heritage and your absolutely unheard-of courage, there's no place for you but—_ GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry walked to the Gryffindor table absently, still trying to figure out what the Hat had been talking about when it referred to his heritage . . . His footsteps led him straight to a few empty seats near the Marauders—apparently nobody was willing to risk the full brunt of any pranks they might play. Harry looked around; Hermione was sitting next to Lily, Danger, and a dark-skinned girl he didn't know. He took the empty seat next to James and waited for one of the Marauders to comment.

"Hey, I think I'm seeing double. Sirius Black, sixth year," said Sirius, extending his hand.

"Hello to you too. I'm Harry Potter, seventh year." He took the hand and shook it.

"Any relation of mine?" asked James from beside him.

"Well, considering my last name, probably, but we can't be certain. I was an only child, lived with an aunt and uncle in Ottery St. Catchpole after my parents were murdered when I was a year old."

"I'm sorry about your parents," said Remus quietly.

"Don't be. I don't need anyone's pity. I hardly remember them, I was so young. All I have are vague memories of a bunch of green light, and some photos from my dad's friends . . . So, what are the rest of you named?"

James, Remus, and Peter duly introduced themselves. Peter had a quiet determination about him that Harry thought seemed out of place. _What happened? Can we trust him? Another thing we've changed?_

"GRYFFINDOR!" yelled the Sorting Hat from atop Ginny's head; she came over and sat herself next to Harry. "James, Sirius, Remus, Peter—darn, I need something to call the four of you—"

"We're the Marauders," said Sirius with a cheeky grin.

"Okay, then. Marauders, allow me to introduce my girlfriend, Ginny Weasley. She's a sixth year."

"Pleased to meet you," said Remus politely.

At the Head Table, Dumbledore stood up and gave his customarily eccentric opening line. As he said, "Tuck in!" food suddenly appeared on all the House tables. Everyone grabbed some. Sirius dug in immediately—_he's as bad as Ron_, Harry thought as he watched him eat.

As he ate, James looked at Harry and Ginny oddly. "What is it?" asked Ginny.

"Harry, are you _sure_ you're not related to me? My past five generations of parents and paternal grandparents have all married redheads. And you look almost exactly like me, except the eyes and that scar . . ."

"Oh, is _that_ your excuse for getting Evans now?" asked Sirius cheekily through a mouthful of food. Harry looked uncomfortable.

"Yeah, we're destined to be together," said James sarcastically. "Seriously, though, I don't understand why she doesn't like me."

"Think about what she said after your Defense O.W.L.," reminded Remus. "You still don't seem to understand, so I'll put it in small words for you: Stop showing off!"

"Whatever," muttered James, and bit into a turkey leg.

* * *

Meanwhile, Ron, Hermione, Danger, Lily, and Aletha Freeman were sitting together—thanks to Lily and Aletha's informed choice of seating, they were as far from the Marauders as possible.

"Danger? Is that really you?" asked Aletha as soon as Danger sat down.

"Yep, it's me, Miss Never-Will-Go-Near-Roller-Skates-Again."

Aletha laughed, while Hermione looked confused. "I think I'm missing something here . . ."

"Ever wonder how Danger got her nickname?" Aletha grinned wickedly, bithely ignoring Danger's glare in her direction.

"Actually, I have no idea."

"Well, we went skating when we were eight or so . . . to make a long story short, Danger here fell over and managed to knock over half the other kids." She started chanting. "Gertrude Granger, She's no stranger, She's a Danger, To us all, Age of eight, She tried to skate—"

"Stop it," growled Danger. "Anyway, Hermione, I see you've met my childhood friend, Aletha Freeman. Please do try to keep her in line." She winked.

"So, what are you doing here, anyway?" inquired Aletha.

"I was a latent witch, and let's just say I had an extremely nasty shock that brought out my powers. You heard what Dumbledore said, I really don't want to talk about it."

"I'm sorry, Danger." She looked downcast, as did Aletha.

The appearance of the food broke the somber mood. "So, what kind of trouble are _you_ getting up to here, anyway?" asked Danger after a few minutes of silent munching.

"Me? Trouble?" Aletha's expression was the epitome of innocence.

"Yes, you, trouble. Who glued five 50p coins to the sidewalk?"

"Oh yeah? Who put the frog in Mrs. Walsh's mailbox?"

"You did, I think."

"Whatever." Aletha waved a hand in dismissal. "I'm a Beater for the Gryffindor team. Sirius is the other one, and I swear he gets on my nerves more than anyone else—"

"Hold on a second," interrupted Danger. "Beater? Gryffindor team? What sport?"

Hermione looked at Ron, shocked. "You had two whole weeks to talk to her and you never told her about Quidditch? Ron, I'm impressed!" So, of course, Ron and Aletha had to explain everything to Danger, leaving Hermione to eat in silence.

_Boys and Quidditch, I swear._

"So, how are the two of you related?" Aletha was asking Danger.

"Second cousins, I think," said Danger. _And add 'good at lying' to the list of her many talents . . ._ "We didn't really know each other until we met here, but now we're great friends."

"Wait a second. How long have you been here?"

"Since the 11th for us," said Hermione, "and Danger since the 18th."

"I wish I could come to Hogwarts early," sighed Aletha. "There's nothing to _do_ at home; I'm an only child, and it's not like I'm going to Floo Sirius and ask him for a game of pick-up Quidditch! I'm worried about my mum, though. She seemed sick all summer . . ."

And with that, the conversation deviated into more mundane topics—idle chatter between long lost friends, plenty of food, and general happiness all around.

* * *

Remus Lupin had often been told he spent too much time in the library for his own good. Sirius, especially, seemed to say that every day.

_So why am I here now, before school's even started?_

Well, he just _had_ to look up something about password spells for the Marauder's Map . . .

Remus found what he was looking for and was walking out of the library when he noticed Harry and one of the other new girls poring intently over two enormous tomes.

_Wonder what they're up to?_

Harry looked up from his book as he heard Remus approach. "Hi, Remus. Hermione, this is Remus Lupin. Remus, Hermione Granger."

"Pleased to meet you," said Remus. "So, what are you doing up here so early in the term?"

Hermione didn't even look up from her book. "Research."

"About what?"

"Ways to defeat Voldemort."

Remus whistled appreciatively. Not only were they trying to figure out how to defeat Him—and they actually had an idea of where to start, apparently—they also quite casually said His name.

Hermione still hadn't looked up. Harry noticed this and smiled apologetically at Remus. "Sorry, she tends to get a _bit_ engrossed in her books." Then, under his breath: "Like Hagrid's just a _bit_ large." Hermione looked up, swatted him on the back of the head, then returned to her book.

"See you around, Harry. Good luck with your research."

"Bye, Remus." Then, as Remus was nearing the door, a whispered, "Bye, Moony."

One of the benefits of lycanthropy was enhanced hearing. Remus whipped around. "How do you know that name?"

"How did you _hear_ that?" retorted Harry. "We both have secrets, you know."

"Fair enough." Remus turned and walked out of the library, adding another item to his mental list of strange happenings.

_The new kids seem nice enough. And really powerful—I can practically smell it. I'm glad they're here._

_Although I'm sure James and Sirius won't be . . ._

Walking absentmindedly back to the Gryffindor common room, Remus was surprised, to say the least, to literally walk right into another one of the new students. _What is it with those kids and the library?_

They both stumbled a bit. "Sorry about that," said Remus.

The new girl—_Gertrude, was it?_—didn't respond, but instead looked at him oddly, eyes wide, as if trying to convince herself he was an illusion. _Of course; she probably thinks I'm some bumbling idiot. Way to make a first impression, Moony._

Then, under her breath: "I married you last night."

"_What?_" Of all her possible responses to his absentmindedness, this was _not_ the one Remus was expecting.

The girl blushed profusely. "Oh my God, I did _not_ just say that. I did _not_, I did _not_. I did, didn't I?" Remus nodded, still confused. "I'm so sorry. What a way to start a conversation. Can we try again?"

Remus's expression was a bit bemused. "Of course." He took the time to look at her a bit more closely; she had quite a lot of bushy brown hair, much like Hermione—were they related? They looked like sisters—and appeared to be getting herself under control, with an effort.

She visibly calmed herself. "I had a dream about you last night. And I've heard your name before—Harry mentioned it—but I'm certain we've never met."

"I think I would remember if we had—Gertrude, was it?"

"Please, call me Danger, it's my nickname."

"Well, if we're on nicknames, call me Moony." Danger smiled at that. _It almost seems like she knows the reasoning behind it,_ thought Remus, _but that's impossible, and she wouldn't be talking to me if she did . . ._

"I was just heading to the library; would you like to join me?"

"Gladly." _And to think I was bored a minute ago._

They set off in the direction from which Remus had come. Remus looked at Danger; she seemed to be waiting for him to ask the obvious question, so he obliged.

"What did you dream?"

"Well, last night's was the most distinct, but it's been going on vaguely for weeks now, ever since—well, you know. At first it was just flashes of color, then words, and finally, last night, a story."

"Yes—you said a wedding?"

Danger smiled thinly. "Said more than that, didn't I? Yeah, I dreamed my own wedding, along with flashes of your—the Marauders'—lives; no words, just pictures, but enough to get a general sense."

"So how do you know our names?"

"I'm getting to that." She blushed a bit. "Anyway, the wedding—I was maybe eighteen or nineteen, a few years older than I am now, and there were eight people in the wedding party—Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, James, Lily, Peter, and a girl I don't know. And Sirius was best man, and Aletha was maid of honor. And I got to the altar—given away by Dumbledore, of all people—he lifted my veils, and I looked at the groom, and it was you."

Remus was wide-eyed. He said nothing, so Danger continued: "I was so happy to see you that I forgot I didn't know anything about you. And I grabbed your hand, and suddenly I did know—everything."

"Everything?" _As in, everything?_

"Yes, everything. Like the fact that you've always been the most responsible of your friends, and you don't make that many friends because of your, let's call it your 'furry little problem', and—"

Remus cut her off. "Hold on a second. You _know_—you know about my lycanthropy—and you're still talking to me?"

"Of course," said Danger softly. "Not everyone is a bigot, Remus. But you'll never be happy if you don't let anyone get close to you." She reached over and grabbed his hand, and Remus began to have some idea of what he had been cutting himself off from.

Danger continued to explain the dream. "It was incredible," she enthused. "I feel as though I've known you for years."

"Whereas I still feel like we've only just met." He smiled, and Danger smiled back; she still hadn't let go of his hand. _I could get used to this. No wonder James and Sirius go on about it so much._

"We could always hope you have a dream just like it . . ."

"But what if I don't want to wait that long?" Remus's eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth. He took a deep breath and let it out. _This is it. Come on, Moony, now or never._ He took a few seconds to get the words in the right order—he'd never done this with anyone, but with Danger it just felt so _right_—and took the plunge: "Danger. . . students in third year and above are allowed to go to Hogsmeade, into the village, on certain weekends; the first one is in a couple weeks. Would you— would you like to go with me?" He waited with baited breath for her response.

Danger grinned widely, and Remus couldn't help but follow suit. "A date? Why, Remus, I thought you'd never ask. Of course!"

This was exactly what he had been hoping—and fearing—he would hear. On impulse, he leaned down to kiss Danger's cheek, but Danger saw what he was doing, and not doing, and she turned her head ever so slightly before Remus had a chance to react.

Their lips met.

_Wow._

A few seconds later, they broke apart. Remus's eyes were still glazed over. "See what you've been missing?" teased Danger. "Come on, wolf-boy, let's go."

As they continued to walk, one thought rose to the forefront of Remus's mind:

_I am _seriously_ attracted to Danger._

He had to laugh as he realized the double meaning of _that_ statement. Of course, Danger heard him and had to ask about it; when he blushed and steadfastly refused to answer, she thought about it for a few seconds and . . . "Let me guess: 'I am seriously attracted to Danger'?" She grinned wickedly.

"Well, it's true," defended Remus. "Some of the things me and my friends get up to . . . I make exceptions for obviously stupid stuff, like teasing a hippogriff, but still."

"_What_ is a _hippogriff_?"

Stories of the Marauders, and of wizarding life in general, filled the next ten or so minutes.

"Well, are you coming in or not?"

Remus stopped short at the Fat Lady's slightly peeved question. He and Danger had, completely independently of one another, walked right past the library and in a sweeping circle back to the Gryffindor common rooms without even realizing it.

"Oh," said Remus and Danger quickly at the same time, "yes, we are." They turned to each other and cracked up laughing.

The Fat Lady's indignant mutter of "Teenagers. . ." could be heard clearly in the common room as the two walked in, hand in hand.

* * *

Two hours later, Danger, James, and Harry were the only ones left awake in the common room. Danger was reading something; Harry and James were both staring at the fireplace, deep in thought, though about entirely different topics. The former was considering everything that had happened since he had arrived here, and what might be done against Voldemort in this timeline. As for the latter . . .

_He's probably daydreaming about Lily,_ sighed Harry. He stood up and was about to go up to bed when Danger spoke, a bit mystically and unlike her usual tone.

"Remember, by the place of your father's servant, to thank the one from whom your gift descends."

"Thanks, I think." Harry shook his head in confusion and walked up the stairs to his dormitory.

"What?" James asked Danger.

"Huh?" Danger shook herself out of her slight reverie.

"You said something," said James.

"I don't remember it." Danger frowned. "Whatever it was, it was meant for whoever heard it. Good night." She closed her book and carried it with her as she ascended the stairs to the girls' dorm on the other side of the room.

"Mental," muttered James, as he too retired for the night.

* * *

(A/N: Another chapter done! I'm rather surprised at how well some of the scenes in this one turned out; I hope you will be, too.

I'm going to try to keep to an update pace of two chapters a week; no guarantees, especially with school starting on September 6, but I'll do my best.

The character of Aletha Freeman belongs to Anne Walsh / whydoyouneedtoknow. The 'I married you last night' scene is based on something from Chapter 1 of LwD.

Anything you want to see that you haven't yet? Tell me so, and I'll try to include it.

Next Chapter: "The First Day." A class with the Marauders, a class with the trio, another bad DADA teacher, and a far-reaching confrontation with Snape . . . coming soon to a computer near you!

Now click that button—yes, that one, in the lower-left hand corner—and REVIEW! Even if you hated it, as long as you're constructive in your criticism, I want to hear from you. Again, I reply to _everyone_, so make sure you're logged in.

Thanks.)


	4. The First Day

**Chapter 4: The First Day**.

"Merlin, do I love free periods." Ron sighed contentedly, sprawled out on one of the couches in the Gryffindor common room; with the trio all taking the same five classes, they all had a free period first thing on Thursday. (Hermione had dearly wanted to continue Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, but nobody in this time period knew her well enough to vouch for her academic prowess.)

"Yeah, and this is the best time to have one. . ." Harry's mind seemed to wander as he trailed off, wondering what to do, until his grin suddenly doubled in size: "Want to go exploring?"

"Harry, really, we shouldn't," objected Hermione. "You _need_ this time to do your homework, and—"

She was cut off by an indignant but laughing Harry. "Homework? HOMEWORK? It's the FIRST BLOODY DAY! Hermione, you're a great friend, but I swear, you need to get your mind off homework sometimes."

"Oh, fine," relented Hermione. "But exploring? Harry, do you really want to get us in trouble that early?"

"We won't get in trouble," he assured. "But we do need somewhere to go. And Danger said something last night: 'Remember, by the place of your father's servant, to thank the one from whom your gift descends.' I think we should look into that; it sounded important."

Hermione's eyes were already glinting; another word puzzle! "Are you sure it applied to you, Harry?"

"Pretty sure; me and James were the only ones left in the room."

"Okay, so it applies to both of you. Father and son. Reference to a father—'your father's servant'—that means whatever it is serves at least James and James's dad, probably you too—'from whom your gift descends', it sounds like it's something passed down—but what gift does the Potter family have?"

Harry shook his head. "I have no idea, Hermione. Why does your sister have to be so cryptic?"

Hermione closed her eyes in thought, and Harry didn't want to interrupt her; Ron, apparently, had no such qualms. "Well, if we're supposed to thank someone, let's get started— Thank you, Dumbledore. Thank you, Merlin. Thank you, Godric. Thank you, Row—"

Hermione's eyes had shot open, and her glare had been intensifying throughout this little speech, and finally it erupted into an indignant "RON! I'm trying to THINK here!"

Harry could sense a full-blown argument brewing, but that really wasn't concerning him at the moment. "Um. . . guys?" Two heads turned to look at him. "There's a hole by the fireplace." Hermione and Ron instantly stopped arguing, and Hermione forgot about deciphering that message—a pity, since it could have told Harry a bit more . . .

"Well, let's go down it, then!" Ron made as if to get up from his seat; Hermione huffed with displeasure.

Harry cut them off with a motion of his hand. "I think I should grab the Map first." Ever since his encounter with the Horcrux cave at the end of his sixth year, Harry had been a lot more careful about walking blindly into danger. That place had been _scary_.

A few minutes later, Harry was back in the common room, piece of old parchment in hand. He tapped it with his wand, saying, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." Lines of ink blossomed from the point of contact and formed into the map they knew so well.

Hermione walked over to look at it over Harry's shoulder. "Well, it looks like just a hole in the wall to me . . . I wonder why it doesn't say where it goes?"

She and Harry were equally surprised when the map wrote something back. "**The passage leads to one of Hogwarts' best-kept secrets. This is only one entrance; seven others there are, some with different passwords. Best of luck finding them all.**"

Hermione looked speechless; Harry decided to play along and keep talking to the map. "Is it safe there?"

"**Perfectly so. It is the safest place in Hogwarts; there, you will not be harmed.**"

Hermione finally seemed to regain her voice. "How— how did you, er, know that?"

"**One of my creators was a blood Founder's Heir. I glean my knowledge of the school from him.**"

"Hm, I wonder who," said Harry thoughtfully. "Thank you, Mr. Map."

"**You're quite welcome**," it wrote, and cleared itself a few seconds later.

"Amazing," said Ron in tones of wonder. "Well, _now_ what are we waiting for?" He ran to the hole and took a closer look; there seemed to be a bar above it, presumably to swing in on, and thankfully it wasn't in a position to cause head trauma. Ron made good use of it and soon had disappeared down the slide.

"I really do wish he'd be more careful sometimes," worried Hermione.

"Relax, Hermione, I'm sure he's fine." Harry figured Ron's whoops of delight were evidence enough.

"It's the perfect Gryffindor bedroom!" yelled Ron's muffled voice. "Come on, guys, but one at a time!"

Harry entered the slide. It felt a bit like the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, except without the muck and the nauseating twists; just a reasonably steep, very fast slide. A few seconds of this, and the floor suddenly fell out from under him; he landed with a _plop_ on a very nicely fluffed-up bed.

He took a look around him. The room certainly fitted Ron's description; the walls were a reasonably bright red with gold trim, and Harry could see a dresser and a desk done in elegant mahogany. But the real kicker was the bed he was laying on: dark red sheets, a comforter that was red on top and yellow on bottom, even red pillows, on a four-poster that was every bit as awe-inducing to him now as the Gryffindor common room had been to him as a first-year . . .

It was paradise.

Harry suddenly remembered Hermione, and quickly got off the bed. "All clear, Hermione!" he called. She slid down, emerged smiling, and gaped as she surveyed the room around them.

"This—is—amazing," she stammered. "I can't believe this place has been hidden under the school for so long and nobody's found it!"

"Well," said Harry, "I see a door there; wonder what's behind it?" He opened it and ushered the trio through.

This appeared to be the main room. It was octagonal, and certainly quite large. The floor was wooden, with a four-sided table in the middle, but that wasn't what drew Harry's eye; four colors predominated, pretty much drowning out everything else. The wall segments of the main room were painted in them, two segments per color; there were chairs of the four colors around the table; even the doors were colored.

The colors were red, blue, green, and yellow. _House colors?_ Harry mused. This chamber almost looked like a meetingplace for representatives of different Houses, with the different colors of chairs around that table . . .

_And they're not even,_ realized Harry. _Four blue, three red, two yellow, only one green . . . Slytherin feeling lonely, anyone?_

Hermione echoed Harry's thought. "It's the House colors," she breathed. "This must have belonged to the Founders or something—I can't believe it, this is so exciting!" Harry could tell she was only with difficulty keeping herself from jumping up and down.

"Should we look around?" asked Ron, and Hermione snapped out of her daze.

"Sure. Let's."

Proceeding clockwise, the trio looked in the other red door and found a well-proportioned and nicely equipped kitchen . . . with absolutely no food.

"How are you supposed to make anything with no ingredients?" asked Harry idly.

A small _pop_ drew his attention; a house-elf had appeared. "Sirs and miss have found the Heart of Hogwarts!" she—for it was clearly a she—squeaked.

Hermione was visibly uncomfortable. "Erm. . . yes, I guess we have. Listen, if we need anything, we'll be sure to call you. . . What was your name again?"

"I is being Kady, sirs and miss. Please call if you be needing anything." She bowed and disappeared with another _pop_.

"Well, the house-elves know about the place. . ." said Harry. "I guess that's why it's so clean. It's odd; it feels like it was meant for us, or something . . ."

"Let's keep going," said Ron. "I only want to see the kitchen if there's food in it."

Next was the blue section; the trio found another bedroom, much like the one they had arrived in but done in Ravenclaw colors, and something that made Hermione shriek . . .

"A LIBRARY! I knew I loved this place!"

Harry and Ron shook their heads bemusedly; Ron had to physically pull Hermione away from the entrance to the library before she would move. The green section had yet another bedroom, which Harry decided to enter.

"Hello there," he heard.

"What? Where are you?"

"Under the bed." Harry checked, and found what felt like a portrait; he took it out and hung it on the wall. It depicted a green-robed man with black hair and green eyes . . .

"Bloody hell, Harry, he looks like you!" exclaimed Ron.

Harry was much more subdued. "No, Ron, I think he looks more like Tom Riddle."

"I assure you," the portrait began, "I am not he, and I hate him as much as you three seem to. Hello, Harry, Ron, Hermione."

"You know our names? How?" Hermione's insatiable curiosity had been stoked once again.

"Word gets around." The figure in the portrait smiled mysteriously. "I have as many secrets as you three do—time-travellers, hm?—and my full name is one of them, but you may call me Alex."

"Nice to meet you," Harry muttered; the figure still disconcerted him for some reason.

"Ah, what manners they're teaching these days." Alex brought his fingers together. "I'm simply here to tell you that you're on the right track. Especially you, Harry; the place _is_ meant for you three, no previous occupants coming to harass you. You may introduce it to whomever you wish; I daresay you'll find it handy in the future."

"Thank you, Alex," said Harry.

"It is I who should be thanking you; now that I am on the wall again, I may travel once more. And I believe I shall." He stood up in his frame and walked off to the side.

"Well, that was weird," was Ron's expressed opinion.

"He certainly seems to know more than he's telling," concluded Hermione. "Let's keep going."

It was Ron's turn to be enraptured by what lay behind the next door. "A QUIDDITCH PITCH! I knew I loved this place!"

Harry just chuckled and shook his head at the parallelism. Hermione was finally able to pull Ron away from his gawking at the indoor pitch, and the trio investigated the final too rooms—

"A bedroom and a bathroom. Nothing too exciting. Still, I suppose you'd need one if you were here too long."

The trio took seats in the three red chairs in the central room. "We need a name for this place," said Ron bluntly.

"Didn't Kady call it the Heart of Hogwarts, or something?" asked Hermione.

"I don't like that name," said Harry. "It's just too . . . pompous, I guess. This is our place, Alex said so, so I think it should have our name. How about the Den? Without any windows, this place seems practically underground, but it's also sort of a home, so . . ."

"The Hogwarts Den." Hermione considered it for a few seconds, then nodded. "I like it. It seems fitting, for some reason."

"The Den it is, then." With a bit more help from the Map, the trio came out the same way they entered—Gryffindor bedroom, three jumps on the bed, "Thank you, Godric," and they were sliding back _up_ into the common room. Another bit of thanks and the hole was closed over by a slab of wall sliding into place—it was seamless, and Harry doubted anyone would see it who didn't know to look.

They sat down in the common room chairs, Hermione reminding them sternly that they had only twenty minutes before their next class. But still . . .

"That was wicked!" exclaimed Ron in awestruck tones, and Harry was definitely inclined to agree.

* * *

While the seventh-years kept busy with a bit of Marauding, the sixth-years were trapped in one of Harry's least favorite classes: Potions. Lily Evans didn't hate it, though; on the contrary, many said she was even more talented as Severus Snape. Considering what he had called her at the end of last year, she didn't much care for the comparison—but she couldn't deny her flair for the subject. She just seemed to have a knack for it, much as Remus was talented in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and (however much she hated to admit it) James had a gift for Transfiguration. Lily's wand may have been "suited to Charms," but she wasn't half bad especially at the improvisational element of potion-making, and she would soon be benefiting from that . . .

As Lily walked into the classroom a few minutes early, chatting amiably with a few of her yearmates, she couldn't help but wonder what the coming year would bring. Her past five years at Hogwarts had been enjoyable, certainly much better than going to a Muggle school with Petunia, but they had been mostly uneventful. Lily had plenty of fun, made enough friends to keep herself busy, did well in her studies, and hardly ever broke the rules; her appointment as a prefect in fifth year had been considered by most to be inevitable.

But most people didn't know—would never have believed—that Lily was perfectly happy to break rules when there was a good reason for it; she just hadn't found one yet. Life at Hogwarts had been peaceful enough, despite the occasional disappearances and acts of terror she would read about in the _Daily Prophet_ . . . but Lily had a sinking feeling that was all about to change soon. Attacks over the summer had ballooned in number, with one almost every day; Voldemort (she didn't hesitate to say the name, unlike _some people_) was building an army, and he was using it sickeningly well.

_I'm pretty sure this war is going to hit closer to home than any of us would like._ Lily had known this for a while; nobody seemed to be doing anything to stem the tide of attacks, not that she could see, and Voldemort just kept growing in power . . .

_I'm going to do something about it._ This second thought took Lily by a bit of surprise, but only because she hadn't put it in so many words before; her fiery determination to look out for those who couldn't look out for themselves was a trait the Marauders had run up against far too often. It had driven her to stand up for Snape when the Marauders attacked him O.W.L.s last year, and she was sure it would eventually drive her to stand up to Voldemort as well.

_As long as I can keep myself alive that long._

Harry's friends might have told him sometimes that he had a bit of a "saving-people thing"; Lily's told her, loudly and often, that she had a serious "helping-people thing."

She was driven out of her macabre thoughts by Remus Lupin's hurried appearance; he had a goofy grin on his face that Lily was sure she'd never seen on him, and they had been friends for quite a while. "What are you so happy about?" she asked him sternly, but with a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Oh, I've just got a date for next Hogsmeade weekend." Remus was still smiling like a madman.

"You? Date? One word: Finally!" Lily laughed. She had never seen Remus with a girl in _that way_ before, and she really was happy for him. Come to think of it, she'd never even seen him with any close friends apart from those three Marauders. Lily herself didn't count; she had a friendly relationship with Remus, but she knew he was hiding something.

In fact, Lily had a shrewd guess as to what it was—the signs weren't hard to miss if you figured out what to look for—but she wasn't much in the mood for a confrontation at the moment.

"So who are _you_ going with?" Remus teased back. "James?"

Lily resisted the urge to scream at him and settled for simply rolling her eyes with a sigh. "I know you've been trying to get him to grow up, Remus, but it's not working. He's already asked me out twice since the Hogsmeade weekend was announced last night at the feast."

"I'll keep trying."

"Good luck," Lily shot back sarcastically. She just _knew_ any attempts at combining the words "James" and "maturity" were just going to end in a joke. _Which is a pity, really . . . I've seen how he acts when he thinks I'm not looking, and he _can _be a nice guy sometimes, but he just uses that 'irresistable charm' on me and makes himself look like an idiot!_

Then, a softer 'voice', barely heard inside her head: _But if he dropped that, I can see how I might like him, a lot—_ Said voice was silenced instantly, ripped to shreds, and burned for good measure; Lily did _not_ want herself falling for that bigheaded, arrogant prat.

Still, she knew she wouldn't have been so hard on him during that post-O.W.L. confrontation if she hadn't seen something worthwhile under that arrogant facade . . .

Professor Slughorn strode up and opened the doors to the dungeon classroom, and everyone filed in. Cauldrons were already set on the tables; Lily could tell this would be a practical lesson.

Once everyone was inside and seated, Slughorn waved his wand to close the doors and started his speech. "Welcome to N.E.W.T.-level Potions," he said jovially. "This class will be significantly more difficult than your previous experience in Potions, but I'm sure you'll all manage. You'll need to, if you want to get a good N.E.W.T."

Slughorn indicated four cauldrons bubbling at the front of the room. "Can anyone tell me what these are?"

Lily and Snape alternated identifying and describing the effects of Veritaserum, Amortentia, Polyjuice Potion, and Felix Felicis . . . which Slughorn proceeded to extol the virtues of, and promise a small vial to the student with the best potion today.

If the students weren't serious before, they were now.

This was an individual potion, so Lily brewed hers carefully and precisely, tuning out all outside noise and focusing on the task at hand. She knew several people in the room could brew the potion perfectly in accordance with the instructions in _Advanced Potion-Making_, so some improvisation would be necessary to get that Felix Felicis.

So Lily improvised. At one point, she needed to extract the juice from a root, and decided to flatten it with her knife instead of cutting it up; this worked admirably, and she made a note in her textbook. She would share it with Snape later; their friendship had been seriously harmed by his calling her a Mudblood last year, but Lily doubted they'd ever stop exchanging Potions notes, if a bit more stiffly than before. They were, after all, probably the only two people in Potions class who could understand each other! And when stirring, the final step, she noticed a resolute failure of the potion to change to its desired clear color; on a whim, she added an anticlockwise stir every seven clockwise stirs, and the problem immediately righted itself.

"And time's up!" Slughorn walked around the classroom, peering into every cauldron, making comments here and there, spending quite a bit of time on Snape's . . . and hers. "Excellent job, Lily," he said with a toothy grin. "I see you modified the stirring instructions a bit, to great success I must say. Severus did so as well, but slightly differently than you."

Lily blushed a bit; she doubted she'd ever get fully used to Professor Slughorn's compliments. Said Professor was walking back to his desk, saying something . . . wait, what was it? ". . . though many of you performed admirably, and in the end it was almost a tie, I must say that Lily's potion was the best!"

She walked up to Slughorn's desk, beaming, and accepted the small bottle. James was scowling at her, but she didn't care. _Serves him right to not be the best for once._

As she walked to Charms, Lily couldn't help but feel a bit bolstered by the vial of liquid luck in her pocket. She knew she should save it for something, but she couldn't help contemplating the possibilities . . .

"Save it." One of the new boys, the one that looked like James—Harry, was it?—was walking past her with two of his friends, probably headed to Defense.

"What do you mean?"

Harry stopped walking and turned to face her. He motioned for his friends to keep going. "Lily, right? You've just been to Slughorn's class?"

Lily nodded.

"And I take it by your grin that you've just won the Felix Felicis?"

Another nod, but this time accompanied by suspicion. _How would he know about that? He's new here!_

"Save it for something important. Just trust me on this. I had the same thing happen, had a Potions tutor that gave out Felix—I was desperately tempted to use it for, well, romantic purposes, but I didn't and I'm glad of it." More softly: "It wound up saving the lives of three of my friends when Death Eaters attacked."

Lily was rather taken aback by the gravity of the latter statement, and she knew Harry's reasoning had merit. "Thanks for the advice, Harry. I will. I'll see you around."

He gave a friendly smile in return and continued walking.

As she continued on her way to Charms, Lily could swear she had recognized the precise color and shape of his eyes.

They were the exact attributes of her own, after all.

* * *

Harry smiled in farewell and turned to head for Defense.

Lily was . . . well, the best way to describe her, Harry thought, was a _good person_. He had heard bits and pieces in the first-day gossip, and even the brief conversation he had just had seemed to cement. Sure, she was human, made mistakes, and probably had a fiery temper like the other redheads Harry knew, but she also was willing to put the really important stuff first, and at sixteen that was pretty remarkable . . . Harry grinned inwardly, remembering Ron's stint as "Won-Won" and Hermione's utter frostiness last year. _All fixed now, thankfully. I think Ron's finally grown up._

Ever since he'd seen Snape's worst memory, Harry's esteem for his father had dropped several notches. He wasn't even sure his Patronus was a stag anymore. Sirius and Remus had done their best to reassure him, of course, but he had _seen_ his dad being an arrogant git, and had only _heard_ about his later turnaround.

To tell the truth, he was a bit embarrassed to be around James Potter in this time. Lily Evans gave him no such qualms, and he wondered again just what had driven them together.

_Who knows? Time will tell._

_Or it won't._ Harry knew his presence would have consequences, but he dearly hoped it wouldn't ultimately prevent his parents' relationship. That would just be too weird.

Harry caught up with Ron and Hermione, waiting patiently with the other seventh-year N.E.W.T. Defense students for the teacher to arrive. The class was quite large for a N.E.W.T.-level one, maybe twenty-five students.

_Probably because of the war._

A minute later, Professor Johnson walked up. He was the archetypical stodgy professor: a middle-aged, slightly graying man who spoke without emphasis and had few distinguishing traits. Harry had known him from his pre-term stay at Hogwarts, fervently hoping the man wasn't his new Defense teacher; he almost would prefer a Death Eater impersonating Moody again.

_At least he's not Umbridge. Or Lockhart. Come to think of it, there do tend to be a lot of substandard Defense teachers. Sometimes I think the ones we get are last resorts._

_I wonder who the Marauders will get next year . . . when I'm out of school, Ginny's still in it, and I'll need something to do for money while I'm not Horcrux-hunting. Hmm. . ._

"Please enter the room and sit down, class." They did so, and most took parchment, quill, and book out—it was clear that this teacher wouldn't be too fond of practical lessons.

Professor Johnson made the obligatory beginning-of-term speech. "Welcome to your final year of N.E.W.T. level Defense Against the Dark Arts. Your N.E.W.T. exam will be very difficult, comprising both a theory and a practical section; most of the practical part should have been covered last year, so we shall be focusing mostly on theory this year, much of which is far too complex to practice, and indeed you are not expected to . . ."

Harry's face sagged in disappointment; practical lessons were where he excelled, and he had to admit Snape had had plenty of them last year—five parts snarky attitude to one part teaching, sure, but far better than Lockhart or Umbridge. Looking around furtively, he saw that some students were disappointed, some positively terrified. One of the latter raised his hand.

"Erm. . . Professor, our teacher last year said pretty much the same thing, that we would be learning most of the practical bit _this_ year. Are we going to learn it or not?"

Professor Johnson seemed rather flustered by this. "Well, er, I'm, er, sure your instruction last year was more comprehensive than your previous professor led you to believe, and, er, I suppose you can practice spells on your own to—" He broke off, seeing that most of the class was looking at him indignantly; waved his hand in dismissal, and started a lecture on dementors.

By the tone of his lecture, the Ministry still entrusted Azkaban to the foul creatures, and apart from a few 'rogues', all were accounted for; Harry suspected this was a cover-up designed not to incite fear, but he couldn't exactly do much about it.

". . . and under the cloak's hood, a vile head that has never been seen, since it only emerges when a dementor uses its last and most powerful weapon, the— Yes, Mr. Potter?" Harry had had his hand firmly in the air since "never been seen."

"Professor, I know what's under a dementor's hood." He was a bit unsure about revealing this to the class, but figured they had a right to know . . . and Harry dearly wanted to see how Professor Johnson would deal with this one.

"Oh, is that right? Do tell." Johnson's expression was highly skeptical.

"Well, it's a sort of scabby, deformed face, but without the elements of a face on it—no eyes, no nose, just a gaping, bottomless mouth. Definitely the creepiest thing I've ever seen." Harry shook himself a bit at the memory; it still was traumatic.

"And, pray tell, how would you know this?" The professor's skepticism refused to recede.

"Because I was nearly Kissed by a dementor. One of the 'rogues' I believe you mentioned."

"And you are here to tell us this . . . how, exactly?"

"A friend's Patronus drove it away just in time." Harry didn't mention that the 'friend' had been, in fact, himself; that would just muddy the waters.

Professor Johnson frowned. "An interesting tale, but barely plausible. Please restrain yourself to the truth in the future. Five points from Gryffindor. Now, the only defense against a dementor is the Patronus Charm, an immensely difficult piece of magic well beyond N.E.W.T. level . . ."

Harry tuned him out. Privately, he was incensed; here he was, with more Defense experience than probably even the teacher (who didn't seem to have a wand in sight) and trying to tell the horrid truth, and he was yet again being dismissed as an inexperienced child. The rest of the class seemed to be on his side, at least, with the exception of the Slytherins, but nobody dared speak out for the rest of the lecture . . .

Harry didn't listen; he knew more about dementors than he ever wanted to. Instead, he daydreamed, remembering previous Defense classes . . . the good ones first, Professor Lupin and Professor Fake-Moody, then Snape, then Quirrel and Lockhart and Umbridge . . .

_Umbridge._ When had Harry been in this situation before? Umbridge, of course. It wasn't nearly as bad this time, of course, but the end result was the same: a year of boredom in one class, with nobody knowing how to defend themselves.

_Defending ourselves . . . Umbridge . . . the D.A.!_ Harry grinned inwardly. The D.A. would be _perfect_ for this time period. Plenty of students itching for a way to fight back _somehow_ against the Dark Lord, probably more who just wanted to pass their N.E.W.T.s, and it would give him something to do in this time period . . .

By the end of Defense class, Harry already had his first three lessons mentally planned out.

* * *

"Watch where you're going, Snivellus! _Expelliarmus!_"

Harry was walking down a corridor leading to the Great Hall for dinner, a bit absent-mindedly contemplating the war . . . when the word "Snivellus" reached his ears and instantly changed his demeanor.

_This has got to stop. I can't believe them, they're attacking him for no reason at all . . . even if it _is _Snape . . ._ The idea of just ignoring it crossed his mind—Harry hadn't forgotten Snape's actions of two months past—but he finally decided the Marauders needed to learn a bit of a lesson.

Harry turned into a corridor and walked briskly, seeking out the confrontation by following the sounds he was hearing. When he reached their source, he found James and Snape facing each other in one of the larger main corridors of Hogwarts; Snape was half-sitting, trying to get up, apparently under an Impediment Jinx, his wand ten feet away.

It was eerily remniscent of the scene after the Marauders' Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.

Harry saw Lily coming up behind him, her expression absolutely furious. She opened her mouth, probably to shout "Leave him ALONE!", but Harry silenced her with a whispered, "I'll handle this, trust me." Lily nodded her acquiescence, though she was still plainly enraged.

He looked around; to James, Snape, and the small crowd watching them, he was still in the shadows and not plainly visible. A plan was beginning to form in his mind. Taking his Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket and throwing it over himself, he began to creep toward the duelers, flitting through little spaces between the eager watchers . . .

"I'll—get—you—Potter," Snape was saying. He spoke each word with an effort, fighting against the jinx that bound him. "One—of—these—days—"

Harry took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what he knew he had to do. _It's not made any easier by the fact it's my own Dad I'm condemning—but this is absolutely necessary._

"Shut up, Snivellus!" James lifted his wand.

Another deep breath, gathering his calm—he knew he would need it—and—

_Expelliarmus! Silencio! Accio wand! Finite! Silencio!_ A set of five nonverbal spells on Harry's part lifted the Impediment Jinx on Snape, Silenced both parties, and sent their wands flying through the air.

Whipping off his Invisibility Cloak with a flourish, Harry caught both wands and spoke. "Stop it."' His voice was cold and unemotional, but the anger behind it was palpable.

"How— who— what—" Sirius spluttered.

He turned to James and his entourage; at least Remus and Peter were nowhere in sight. "James, Sirius, I honestly cannot believe you. Yet again, you are attacking without the slightest provocation. I know exactly _how_ you acted after your Defense O.W.L., I know exactly _who_ told you exactly _what_ opinion about it, and I will echo her words now: You. Make. Me. Sick."

James's eyes widened at those last four words. He was fuming silently by now, and Sirius opened his mouth to make an indignant retort; Harry held up a hand to forestall it, and continued. "I will not deny that Snape has probably done plenty of his own to warrant your attention. That does not give you the right to attack him unprovoked. Defend yourself if attacked, certainly. But do not make the first move simply because your adversary 'exists'."

Snape was smirking by this point; Harry, realizing he was seeing this as a free telling-off for Potter, whirled around to face him. "And you, Snape, don't think there wasn't a reason I Silenced _both_ of you." The smirk disappeared. "I know very well what kind of magic you associate with, and it makes even more sick than Potter's behavior. Attack me and I will respond in kind. I hold no love for you or your ideals, but I will not strike preemptively against them." Harry's moved his head again, and his gaze drilled into James, who was looking anywhere but back at him. "To do so would make me no more than a bully."

Harry's speech certainly had an impact; his coldness and forced calm had hopefully driven home some of the things angry outbursts could not. He blinked, removed the Silencing Charms with a wave of his wand, threw both wands back to their owners, and turned to walk away in silence.

James was the first to break it. "Who do you think you are, anyway?" he spat angrily. "_Impedimenta!_"

"_Protego Reversi,_" Harry said calmly, without turning around. The jinx bounced of Harry's shield and hit James.

This wasn't enough for Snape, though, who had a gleeful grin on his face as he waved his wand. "_Sectumsem—_"

Harry whirled around and fixed him with a hateful glare. _Expelliarmus!_ Snape's wand was out of his hand before he finished the spell; another advantage of nonverbal casting was its speed. "Don't you dare, _Snivellus_," he hissed. "That spell is as Dark as your hair. I'll be giving _this_—" he held up Snape's wand— "to Professor Dumbledore, along with an explanation of the situation." He took a deep breath and again forced himself to calm down. "Now move along, both of you, and remember what I said."

He again turned and left, and this time his departure was met with absolute silence.

As soon as he was out of sight, Harry started running. The confrontation had been extremely draining; whatever strong feelings he had against James's behavior from being on the receiving end of it from Dudley, they were far dwarfed by his utter hatred of future Snape, a lot of which spilled over to past Snape. Keeping his calm in front of both of them had been trying, and now he was working off his pent-up steam by running at full tilt through the corridors and secret passages . . .

Harry was pretty sure he passed at least one snogging couple in one of said passages, but he was too focused to care or even really notice. He finally emerged at the still-life that hid the kitchens; breathing heavily, he tickled the pear and was let in.

"Hello, sir!" one of the house-elves shrieked happily; after a moment's thought, Harry recognized her.

"Hi, Kady. Could I get some roast beef, please?"

"Sir remembers me!" said Kady in mixed surprise and pleasure. She whispered something to one of the other elves, and he ran off to the back of the kitchens. "Sir's dinner will be ready in five minutes. But why is sir not eating dinner with the others?"

"I don't much want to be around everyone else right now," said Harry gravely. "And you can call me Harry, Kady."

"Oh, no, Kady would never do that, sir! Kady is being a good house-elf!" She seemed appalled by the very thought.

"Have it your way, then." Harry chuckled mildly.

A few minutes later, his dinner came, and Harry ate it in silence. He was still reeling from what he had told James and Sirius, from what Snape had tried to do to him . . .

_I still have to give Dumbledore his wand and the story behind it. Preferably with a bit of context from the future . . ._

_And now James and Sirius will hate me. Remus won't, I hope, as long as I can tell him the truth, maybe use my Pensieve._ The Pensieve, along with a rather large selection of memories and a letter, had been left to him by Dumbledore, and Harry had already put it to great effect showing Ron, Hermione, and Ginny what he knew of the Horcruxes.

_Not to mention what I referred to of my knowledge. James probably thinks I'm a spy now or something._ He gave a humorless laugh at that. A few nearby house-elves turned their heads, but otherwise paid it no heed.

Finishing his dinner, Harry couldn't help but think, _I have a bad feeling about this . . ._

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk with his Pensieve in front of him, trying to make sense of all the happenings of the past few weeks. Four time-travellers had literally dropped right into his office; their presence had somehow caused the parents of one of them to be killed in a Death Eater attack, which had led to the admittance of a fifth new older student this year, Danger . . . now what?

Dumbledore added a few memories to his Pensieve. Harry Potter rose out of it, speaking his concerns about never returning home. He prodded the image with his wand, and it changed to that of a red-robed man exuding quiet authority, Godric Gryffindor, saying how they could not ever go back, how indeed he had caused them to be there in the first place, as they would have otherwise been killed, and the Light brought low . . .

A knock on the door made Dumbledore tap his Pensieve again, causing Gryffindor to recede into silvery mist. "Come in," he called.

Harry Potter walked in, holding a wand that Dumbledore could see was not his own. "Hello, Professor," he said calmly.

"Hello, Mr. Potter. Please sit down." Harry did so, and looked at Dumbledore expectantly. "Would you like a lemon drop?" asked the latter, taking one himself as he did so.

"No, thank you, Professor," Harry said with a weak smile. "I'm here to explain a few things. James Potter and Severus Snape were involved in a conflict this evening, one which I broke up. I lifted a jinx James had placed on Snape, Silenced both of them and summoned their wands, and explained what I thought of their actions—which wasn't much, let me tell you. Then I removed the Silencing Charms, gave them back their wands, and turned to walk away."

"So far, I see no matter requiring my attention."

"So far, you shouldn't, I think," said Harry. "But when my back was turned," he continued, "Snape tried to hit me with a very Dark cutting curse called _Sectumsempra_; he invented it, or so his future self says, probably over this past summer—there was a note about it in his sixth-year Potions textbook. I stopped him from completing the casting by disarming him. Here's his wand." Harry placed it on Dumbledore's desk and looked into the old Headmaster's markedly non-twinkling blue eyes.

"I shall return it to him tomorrow," said Dumbledore, "amidst some stern admonishments. His actions were certainly dishonorable, and I am glad you acted in the manner you did. However, I must note that you do not seem very surprised at Severus's actions. Is there anything you would like to tell me, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore had used a bit of Legilimency on Harry and found nothing, but he was still excellent at reading facial expressions.

"Professor, I don't know how much you know or want to know about the future, but Snape did something, only two months ago from my perspective, that I can never forgive."

"And what is that?"

"He killed you. Right in front of me." Dumbledore was clearly surprised, but it only barely showed. "After you had vouched for his trustworthiness several times! He was a Death Eater, told you he was spying for you, told Voldemort he was spying against you—nobody really knows the truth," finished Harry angrily.

Dumbledore sighed. Harry's future knowledge was both highly important and highly perilous, apparently—perhaps even mistaken in some cases. Though Dumbledore would have loved to remain ignorant of it, he knew he could not.

After a moment's consideration, he spoke. "If you are willing to tell it to me, I would know what I may of the important events of your future." _And I will draw my own conclusions from it,_ he added mentally.

Harry only nodded. "This means we're not going back, doesn't it?"

"That is correct. I spoke to a friend, and he told me the return travel would be impossible. Still, I advise you to be careful, and consider carefully the consequences of your actions."

"I will, sir." Harry smiled knowingly. "This 'friend' wouldn't happen to be Nicholas Flamel, would it?"

"No, not he. You probably have heard of the person, but I'm afraid I am bound not to tell you his name." It was the absolute truth; only those who had sworn the Founders' Oath could know of such matters. The Founders had sworn it before beginning Hogwarts, later including their children in the oath as well; he and his brother, Aberforth, had sworn it upon leaving Hogwarts with already ballooning magical skills; perhaps Harry and his friends would follow the same path?

"That's fine, Professor." Without preamble, Harry touched the tip of his wand to his temple and pulled out five memories, placing each in the Pensieve still on Dumbledore's desk. "These memories should explain most of the important bits."

Before diving into the Pensieve, though, Harry gave a bit of background. "My parents were James and Lily Potter," he began. "On October 31, 1981, Voldemort attacked and killed them, but was unable to kill me due to the ancient magical power embedded in Lily's giving her life for mine. Instead, the curse rebounded and robbed Voldemort of his body, leaving me with just my scar; most people believed Voldemort dead, and I was hailed as the Boy-Who-Lived, the one who had somehow killed him.

"James and Lily had gone into hiding to protect me using the Fidelius Charm. Sirius Black was originally intended to be my their Secret-Keeper, but it was decided at the last minute to switch to Peter Pettigrew. Peter was a Death Eater, and he betrayed them to Voldemort.

"Nobody knew of the switch except James and Lily—not even you—so Peter was able to very effectively frame Sirius for his death and the deaths of twelve Muggles. With no witnesses to contradict the obvious, Sirius was sentenced without a trial to life in Azkaban. He finally escaped during my third year at Hogwarts. Voldemort came back at the end of my fourth year, as you will see.

"I think that's it." Harry indicated the Pensieve. "After you, sir."

Dumbledore placed his hand in the silvery liquid inside, and reappeared at a graveyard. Real Harry soon followed suit, and fourteen-year-old memory Harry soon after that, clutching a large golden cup with another, older boy . . .

The two watched as Harry dueled Voldemort, received an explanation of the night's actions from Dumbledore; demolished Dumbledore's office (real Harry apologized at that point) and finally learned of the prophecy; watched Slughorn's real memory and discussed Horcruxes with memory Dumbledore, navigated a cave to retrieve a Horcrux that turned out not to even be one, returning a weakened Dumbledore to Hogwarts, only for him to be killed by Snape . . .

At the end, the two saw the events of only a half-hour previous: the altercation between James and Snape, Harry's handling of it, and Snape's curse.

After the strand of memories, Harry took himself and Dumbledore back out of the Pensieve.

"Thank you, Harry," said Dumbledore shakily. "Good night."

"Good night, Headmaster." Harry hadn't missed the use of his first name, and to him it spoke louder than anything else about Dumbledore's reaction to the memories. He left the office quietly, leaving the wise old Headmaster time to think, and think, and think . . .

_That explained quite a bit. It appears Harry is more central to this war than any of us could know, and has faced more than he ever should . . ._

_And I expect a similar prophecy to surface soon in this time. Possibly even under similar conditions._ The day prior, Dumbledore had received a letter from one Sibyll Trelawney, requesting a position as Hogwarts' Divination professor (the subject had not been taught since the retirement of Professor Xenocleia at the end of the previous year), and he planned to interview her over Christmas break.

What would come, would come, and he would meet it when it did.

* * *

(A/N: A bit more introspective, with POVs from Lily and Harry . . . hope you like it. And now Dumbledore knows.

The Hogwarts Den belongs to Anne Walsh / whydoyouneedtoknow. The exploratory scene is based on my memory of Chapter 4 of "Living without Danger"; probably boring to Dangerverse familiars, but it didn't feel right to skip it.

Next chapter: conflict between James and Sirius, Remus, and the trio over the Snape scene, and Danger's avoidance of her parents' deaths catches up with her . . .

Two updates a week is harder to maintain than I thought; no guarantees, folks, but I'll keep trying.

Review, please! I amend my earlier comment to say I will respond to any review that _has something to respond to_. Responding to "Great story!" with "Glad you like it!" gets old after a while.)


	5. The Annals of Arrogant Prathood

**Chapter 5: The Annals of Arrogant Prathood**.

James Potter stalked his dormitory angrily, kicking his bed as he passed it.

"I can't bloody believe him!" he finally burst out.

"I know, mate," growled Sirius. "The nerve of him . . ."

"Hold on just one second," Remus interrupted. "Who are you talking about anyway?"

"Harry bloody Potter." James practically spat the last name, apparently forgetting it was his own as well.

"And what happened, exactly?"

"He walked up to me and Snivellus, disarmed and Silenced both of us, and gave us a bloody lecture. A lecture, for Merlin's sake! Who the bloody hell does he think he is?"

Privately, Remus doubted James had been quite as innocent as all that. He said so. "What were you _really_ doing when he walked up?"

"Well, I had disarmed Snivellus and hit him with an Impediment Jinx—come to think of it, Potter took that off too, the git!"

_Aha._ "And did you ever stop to consider that Harry might have been _right_ to step in? Did he actually _do_ anything to you? Really, now."

James seemed to take a while to answer. "He reflected the jinx I sent him back on me, but otherwise . . . I guess not. But still! I mean, he disarmed and Silenced me!"

"But he did the same to Snape?"

"Yes, but still, he _lectured_ me about how I shouldn't 'just go making the first move because my adversaries exist' or some rubbish like that! Barely said _anything_ to Snivellus."

Remus considered this for a moment. "You know, you _did_ say something like that last term. 'It's more the fact that he _exists_, if you know what I mean.' It was a really lousy excuse then, and it still is."

"But he was defending _Snivellus_!"

Seeing James falter for support, Sirius had to interject something of his own. "And he was really creepy, he knew all sorts of stuff he shouldn't—what Evans had said last time, he even said he knew _everything that had happened after our Defense O.W.L._! I'm telling you, he's a spy or something!"

By now, Remus was frowning. He seriously doubted Harry was any sort of unsavory character. Some elements of magic were easily detectable by scent, and Dark magic was one of them; Remus had been around Harry a few times, and he had never smelled any on him. Snape, on the other hand . . . _Best not to mention that. James would go crazy if he knew; he already suspects plenty._

Out loud, he said only, "Trust me, James, he's not Dark. If you want to believe that, feel free, but don't say I didn't warn you when it backfires." Remus turned and walked out the door.

"That— that—" spluttered Sirius. "I can't believe Moony actually _believes_ him!"

Peter surprised everyone by speaking up. "Padfoot, Prongs, you're being unreasonable. Come find me when you see why." And with that, he too walked out.

He didn't walk fast enough, though, to avoid a cutting, "You know, I liked you better the old way, Wormtail," from Sirius.

_Why do I even call these people my friends?_ he wondered as he walked.

Then, a quieter voice in his mind: _Because I don't have anyone else._

* * *

Peter met Remus in the common room. "I can't believe them," he sighed. 

"I know, Peter. They'll come to their senses eventually, but it'll probably take a while. You know how stubborn they are."

It went unspoken that both hoped James and Sirius _would_ come to their senses eventually. 'Stubborn' was an understatement when it came to those two.

A minute later, the portrait hole opened and Harry walked in. Remus immediately greeted him.

"Hi, Remus, Peter," said Harry in response. "James and Sirius being pratlike?"

Remus nodded. "I'm surprised you guessed."

Harry just shrugged his shoulders. "I would like to show you what actually happened, though. James didn't seem in any state to tell the truth when I left."

"And how do you plan to do that?" asked Peter.

"Pensieve, Peter. Come on up to the seventh-year dorm, you two; we won't have any eavesdroppers there. And I think I should. . . yeah. Ron! Hermione!" he called. "Stop snogging and come over here!"

The two appeared suitably quickly, blushing a bit at the insinuation. "What is it, mate?" asked Ron.

"I've got something to show you, and Remus and Peter. Come on." He led the way up to the dorms.

Once there, each of them sat back on a bed as Harry rummaged through his trunk for the Pensieve. A minute later, he extracted it, forced a few robe edges that had come out during the search back into his trunk, and indicated for everyone to form a circle.

"Have either of you used one of these before? Ron and Hermione, I know have."

"No, we haven't," said Remus softly. "What is that?"

"This is a Pensieve; it's used to share memories. Like this." Harry touched his wand to his temple and extracted two silvery gossamer-fine strands of thought. "And then you just touch the liquid, and you're thrown in. You'll see everything that's going on, but nobody in the memory will notice you. Ready?"

All four nodded.

"Okay then, go in when I do." Harry touched the surface of his thoughts and fell through, falling through blackness to a corridor with sounds of a confrontation wafting in.

Remus, Peter, Ron, and Hermione soon joined him, and they watched in silence as Harry played his part. Remus picked up on a lot from the memory—Harry had an Invisibility Cloak, was reasonably skilled with nonverbal spells, managed to keep his cool—though it seemed trying at times—and somehow knew of the curse Snape used before he even finished it, and really hated it . . . Everyone laughed a bit at the comment, "That spell is as Dark as your hair," but other than that they just watched.

As the memory drew to a close, with Harry running through the corridors, he pulled everyone out of the Pensieve. Peter's eyes were wide.

"That was . . . enlightening," said Remus guardedly.

"You don't hate me for doing that, do you?" asked Harry pleadingly.

"No, of course not. It needed to be done, and I hate to say I'm not usually able to do it. James and Sirius were really my first friends, you know, and they've done more for me than anyone will ever know . . ."

"I have some idea," said Harry with a slight smile.

Peter finally asked the question that had been on his tongue since the memory. "How did you know all that, Harry? I was there after the O.W.L., and the stuff you said sounded like you were too . . ."

Harry's smile disappeared. "Another memory, this time not mine," he said with a sigh. "I saw it by accident during Occlumency practice, and it was rather embarrassing to me, for reasons I'd rather not discuss."

Peter relaxed in agreement, but he was still privately a bit suspicious. "So, what else can this Pensieve thing do?"

"Oh, it has all sorts of capabilities," said Hermione in her 'lecture-mode'. "It can project bits of a memory and form connections between them, it can—"

"Hermione, I think it'd be easier just to give a demonstration," said Harry with a smile. And he did so; he prodded the Pensieve, and the same figures of James and Snape rose out of it that had been seen earlier. "I'll—get—you—Potter—" With a prod from Harry's wand, the scene changed to one from Snape's worst memory, with the two in almost the same position, Snape saying almost the same thing . . .

"Wow," breathed Peter.

"Can I see one of me?" asked Remus.

"Sure," said Harry, grinning. He thought for a moment, then the grin disappeared. "Remus, please remember that I _know_ this and I stand your friend. Don't run away or anything."

Remus was very puzzled, as were Ron and Hermione to a lesser degree, but he nodded nonetheless.

Another prod from Harry's wand, and figures rose out of the Pensieve once more—James and Remus, apparently walking in place and chatting animatedly.

"The Five Signs of a Werewolf," narrated Harry, "by Remus Lupin. (Alternate answer.)" Remus paled as soon as he heard this.

"D'you think you got all the signs, Moony?" asked the memory James.

"Think I did," answered memory Remus with mock seriousness. "One: He's sitting in my chair. Two: He's wearing my shoes. Three: His name's Remus Lupin . . ."

James laughed in the memory; Ron and Hermione did outside it. Peter and Remus were deathly quiet as the image receded.

"Whose memory was that?" whispered Remus finally.

"Relax, Remus," placated Harry. "They didn't hear you say that. A Pensieve lets you hear things you didn't pick up when you actually lived through something."

This calmed him a bit, until Peter made a comment. "So _anyone_ could use one of these things to spy on us?"

"Pensieves are really rare, Peter," said Hermione reassuringly. "I think the only one in the castle other than Harry's belongs to Professor Dumbledore."

"Wait a second—you _know_ about my condition, and you're still talking to me?" This was still a shock to Remus, but less so since the past day. _I need to cultivate that paranoia, though,_ he thought. _For the rest of the world, with normal attitudes about lycanthropy._ "And you won't tell anyone?" he added desperately.

"Of course we won't tell, Pr— Remus," said Ron.

"Not everyone's a bigot," added Hermione. "Sometimes you just have to give people a chance."

Remus laughed at that. "Thanks, guys. And Hermione, that's the second time in twenty-four hours I've had a girl say that exact line to me. Last time, it wound up with me getting a date."

"I'm already taken, sorry," said Hermione, putting an arm around Ron and smiling. "So it was Danger, then?"

Remus blushed and didn't say anything.

"I knew it!" Harry pumped a fist in the air in triumph. "I was teasing her about it before you even got here! You two will be great together."

Remus smiled shyly. "Gee, thanks. And Harry, guys—no hard feelings, okay?"

"None at all," answered Harry. "Friends?"

"Friends." They shook hands, and Remus left the dorm grinning, Peter in tow.

After they left, Harry explained a bit more to Ron and Hermione. "The memory I showed a bit of was the 'Snape's worst memory' I mentioned before, Hermione. I saw it during Occlumency—it was what made Snape stop giving me lessons—"

"I knew it!" broke in Hermione excitedly.

"—and my dad really was almost as bad as Snape always goes on about. Remus and Sirius from the other timeline told me he grows up soon, but it's still hard to take."

"I'm not too glad you lied to us," said Hermione cautiously, "but I understand why. Could I see the memory now?"

"Of course. It's the next one in there. Ron?"

"No thanks, mate." So Hermione entered the Pensieve alone, and came out five minutes later. To the others, her body seemed frozen over the basin as she watched the memory.

After she emerged, Harry put the Pensieve away and the three walked back down to the common room. "Peter's changed a lot," was Hermione's first comment.

"I know," said Harry gravely. "And I don't know whether whatever-it-was happened in our timeline too, and whether we can trust him. I'd rather not, but it's been easier than I thought to separate Peter the slightly meek friend from Wormtail the traitor."

"Probably because they act so different," said Ron. "I mean, I was there in the Shack with you guys, and the Peter I know here doesn't seem like he could _ever_ be like that . . ."

"Yeah, I get the same feeling."

"Trust him for now, but keep an eye on him, I think," said Hermione. "We know he doesn't turn traitor for four years yet, and our presence will hopefully change that to 'never'."

Harry spotted Ginny on one of the couches and moved to sit beside her; Ron and Hermione took the other half of the couch. "Hi Gin," said Harry warmly.

"Hey, Harry. Have you been to Defense yet?" Ginny grimaced at the memory.

"Yep, we have. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

A feral smile. "Another D.A.?"

"Bingo. Hermione?"

"It _would_ be a good idea—Professor Johnson is just dreadful—and I guess it wouldn't need to be secret, with no Umbridge. I doubt you'd get as much interest as during fifth year though—Johnson isn't nearly as bad," she said. "I'm in, anyway, and I can make up some more of those fake Galleons again."

"What about spies, though?" asked Ron. "If we let everyone in, we might get Slytherins coming just so they can learn to hex us better."

"I think we could put up signs, and charm them only to be visible to people on our side . . . I'd need to do some research, though."

"Hermione, you're brilliant!" enthused Harry. "Okay, then—first meeting, next Thursday, week from tomorrow?"

"Sounds good," said Ginny. "Quidditch won't be starting for a couple weeks, at least."

"Next Thursday it is," said Hermione. "I'll make the signs; you guys will have to post them, though. And I don't know how you're going to get into the other common rooms . . ."

Harry thought for a minute, and snapped his fingers. "I've got it," he said quickly. "The Den. I bet the other bedrooms are for the other common rooms—'Thank you, Rowena,' and all that."

By their facial expressions, Ron and Hermione seemed to agree; Ginny, though, was only puzzled. "The Den? I think I missed this part."

"Oh, you missed some wicked exploring during our free this morning," breathed Ron. "There's a whole thing of eight rooms below Hogwarts—four bedrooms, a kitchen, a library, a bathroom, and—" he grinned like a Cheshire Kneazle— "an indoor Quidditch pitch!"

"That's great!" Ginny laughed. "And how do you get in?"

"Well, for the Gryffindor common room entrance, you go up to the fireplace and say _Thank you, Godric_," said Hermione, whispering the last part. "And the others we don't know, but every room is connected somewhere."

"And I think the bedrooms are all for the common rooms," finished Harry. "If you want, you can go with me under my cloak to put the signs up when Hermione has them ready."

"Tonight," clarified Hermione. "I don't have anything better to do. No homework yet, anyway."

"Thanks a million, Hermione."

* * *

Near midnight, Harry and Ginny tiptoed through the Gryffindor common room under Harry's cloak, Ginny holding four charmed signs. Hermione had given them to her about half an hour previously, with assurances that "no Dark sympathizers would get in." Privately, Harry wondered how Hermione had managed to guard against simple gossip. 

_Of course, if anyone could do that, it's Hermione._

The two walked over to the Gryffindor bulletin board. Two hands extended from under the cloak; one clutched a sheet of parchment, placing it against the board, while the other waved a wand to make a mild squelching sound. While both hands disappeared, the parchment remained. Harry read it.

_Learn some **real** Defense! _

_Hone your skills! _

_Join the war effort! _

_**We are at war,** and Professor Johnson isn't   
teaching us the skills we need to survive. Learn them.  
Do you want to pass your O.W.L. or N.E.W.T.?  
Stand a chance against Death Eaters?  
Just learn something useful?  
Whatever your motivation, we'd be glad to have you. _

_Membership open to anyone fourth year and above who can see this sign. No obligation. _

_If interested, come to the seventh floor corridor, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the  
Barmy, at eight o'clock P.M. on Thursday, 9 September. _

_(You won't be able to repeat the information on this sign to anyone who hasn't seen it.) _

_Merlin, Hermione is brilliant._ "C'mon, Gin," whispered Harry. "Over by the fireplace."

Ginny walked over in careful lock-step with Harry—this cloak _was_ getting a bit small. She was a bit mystified. _Why the fireplace?_

Until, that is, Harry whispered, "Thank you, Godric," and a hole opened up.

After a furtive glance around the common room, Harry took the cloak off both of them and motioned for Ginny to go down the slide. He followed, muttering the password again as he passed through the hole.

"Oof!"

"Sorry, Gin." _Didn't mean to land on top of her . . . but I can't say I mind the position . . ._

Ginny might as well have not heard him; she was gazing around the room rapturously.

"Yeah, amazing, I know," said Harry as he got off the bed. "And this is only an eighth of it. We call this room the Gryffindor bedroom, for obvious reasons; it leads to the Gryffindor common room. There's a similar one for each House." He walked to the door, opened it, and motioned Ginny into the main room. "The Slytherin bedroom is directly across from us; I'm going to try to get into their common room now."

"Why you?"

Harry smirked. "I've been there before."

One Invisibility Cloak later, Harry was sliding under the green bed and saying, "Thank you, Salazar." (He had jumped on it five times or so, looking like an idiot, until Alex told him the Slytherin entrance was underneath.) The upslide ejected him into the common room of the House of the Serpent, thankfully silently and with his cloak still on. He tiptoed to the notice board, tacked the sign up, and was about to slide back down into the Den when . . .

"Hey! Who's there?"

_Oh, shit._ Harry remained silent, taking comfort in the fact that the one kid left in the common room (who looked a lot like Sirius) couldn't see him. He walked even more silently than he had thought possible, and when he was close enough, dove headfirst into the hole as he whispered the password.

The passageway closed off, but Harry knew that was close—and he didn't want _any_ Slytherin he didn't know getting into the Den. Was there a way to do so?

That portrait, maybe . . . Harry was sure _he_ knew more than he was saying. And there he was, right on the wall of this very room.

"Hello, Alex."

"Hi, Harry. What are you doing here at _this_ time of night? With a girl?" he teased.

"Oh, shut up. Is there any way to restrict access to this place? A Slytherin saw me go down."

"Of course," said the portrait smugly. "Just say, 'Salazar says, allow access only to' and then name the people. Works for the other rooms too, but obviously a different name."

"Thanks. Okay . . . Salazar says, allow access only to Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, . . ." he paused, contemplating who else to allow . . . "Gertrude Granger, Remus Lupin, and Lily Evans." _I don't trust the other Marauders. Not yet, at least, not with this._

A brief green flash confirmed that Harry's words had been heard. Ginny was waiting in the main room, and she put the signs up in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff as Harry set the protections everywhere; thankfully, nobody was in either common room. Finally, the two went back into the main room, and from there into the Gryffindor bedroom.

"After you, Gin," said Harry as he motioned to the bed. "Three jumps, and say 'Thank you, Godric' again."

Ginny turned to him with an impish grin. "Well, if we're already up, and down here . . ."

The two returned through the fireplace to Gryffindor Tower about half an hour later, hair mussed and grinning deleriously.

* * *

The next morning, James and Sirius rebuffed any attempt at friendship on the part of the time-travelers. When Harry tried to walk to breakfast with them, they just sped up and dove through a secret passageway. As such, Harry found himself walking with Lily, Remus, Danger, and a fifth-year he didn't know very well named Aletha Freeman. 

"Thank you, Harry," said Lily out of the blue.

"For what?"

"For breaking up that fight between Sev— _Snape_ and the Marauders yesterday. I know it wasn't easy to do."

"No," sighed Harry, "it wasn't." _And you have no idea to what degree, or why._ "But I got bullied a lot as a kid, and I can't stand it when other people do that. The Marauders aren't that bad, you know; they just haven't really grown up yet."

A few seconds later, a bit more softly, he continued, "Don't give up on James, Lily. He's an arrogant prat right now, but he won't be one forever. I know for a fact that he really _does_ care about you."

"Some way he has of showing it," Lily snorted.

Harry shook his head in bemusement. "I know. Like I said, he's an arrogant prat _now_. I'm just saying, don't hold him to that reputation after he grows out of it. You might be surprised."

Lily scowled and was silent for a minute as the group walked. "You know too much," she said finally.

"Oh?"

"You know too much. You knew what happened _last time_, you know everyone's names, you know your way around, you knew the curse Snape tried to use, you even know what the Marauders call him. You don't pick all that up in a day."

"My friends and I have been here since the eleventh, Lily." Harry was trying to keep his outward demeanor calm, but inwardly he was squirming. _She's too smart for her own good._

"Still . . ." Lily was beginning to gather steam. "You knew about Slughorn's first lesson for sixth years, you know a bunch of secret passages—I _know_ you get from place to place faster than is possible normally—and I'm sure you know plenty more, that you just haven't let slip yet. What's up?" By this point, the two had slowed down a bit and separated from the other three; at her last statement, Lily turned to face Harry with her hands on her hips. "Well?" she prompted, seeing no answer forthcoming.

Harry frowned. "Listen, Lily, you're _really_ perceptive." He gave a humorless laugh. "And you're right, there is more to this than I'm telling you. And I'm afraid it will have to stay that way, at least for now." Seeing Lily's glare, he hastily added, "Look, Dumbledore knows, as do McGonagall and Flitwick. We're trying to keep the number of people who know to a minimum. I can't tell you why, but please don't push me on this."

Lily looked him in the eyes—_her eyes_—for a long minute. Finally, she relented. "Okay, Harry. I won't ask." _I'll figure it out on my own instead._

* * *

Severus Snape ate breakfast at the end of the Slytherin table. He was in a particularly dark mood today, and he expressed it by stabbing his kipper with surprising ferocity. _Another year, and I still have no friends. And I am still haunted by Potter and his gang._

He scowled in the general direction of the Marauders, who were laughing uproariously about something at the Gryffindor table. _I will get them in the end,_ he thought venomously. _I will find a way to get them expelled. And I will do it soon._

_I wonder where Lupin goes every month; anyone knows that story about visiting his sick mother is ridiculous._

_And his friends are always tired the day before he comes back . . ._ Severus Snape was many things, but let it never be said he did not have a mind for details.

His mind drifted to the confrontation of last night. _I was practically cheering for the new Potter against the old one—just what relation _are _they, anyway?—until he turned on me._ Snape shuddered at the memory. The new Potter had seemed disappointed and angry at James, but when he whirled on _him_, the barely masked hatred had been clear in his eyes.

_I know that look. It's even worse than the one the Marauders reserve for me._

_And he knew what my curse would do,_ Snape realized with a start. _Before I had even finished casting it—and I have _never _cast that curse verbally before. And he _hated _it._

_I do not have enough information to draw a conclusion,_ he decided. _But I will watch, and wait._ Professor Slughorn was walking towards him. _Starting . . . now._

"Severus, Professor Dumbledore would like to see you at your earliest convenience. He says the password to his office is 'Tootsie Pop'." Snape glanced up at the Head Table; indeed, Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen. _Probably in his office, then._ "Thank you, sir. I'll go now."

_I wonder what the old man has to say to me now . . ._

"Tootsie Pop!" called Snape as he approached the gargoyle. He ascended the stairs and knocked on the door.

"Come in, Severus," came the muffled response. _Interesting how he always calls me Severus . . . everyone else is 'Mr. Potter' or 'Miss Evans' or something._

Snape opened the door, walked in, and closed it behind him. "Please, have a seat," offered the aging Headmaster. He complied.

Professor Dumbledore steepled his hands and looked at Snape with an expression of mild admonishment. "Harry Potter has given me his recollection of the events of last night."

"His recollection, sir?"

"His memory, in a Pensieve," clarified Dumbledore. "I see no instance in which you were at fault—indeed, I am highly disappointed with James Potter for his actions—except in your casting something on Harry as he left the scene. What curse was it, Severus?"

Snape sighed. He knew he would probably get in trouble for this, but he couldn't lie to the Headmaster, not the one person who had shown him compassion after his mother died four years back, who treated him as something more than a Dark greasy-haired geek unworthy of attention or friends . . .

"_Sectumsempra_, sir. It's a cutting curse I invented at the end of last year; I've used it nonverbally before, and it doesn't cause any undue amount of damage. I have no idea why Potter reacted so strongly to it . . ."

"Harry certainly seemed to have his reasons, although he did not share them with me." _Again with the first names. Just who is this new Potter kid?_ "Am I right in assuming you have never used this curse verbally before?"

The Slytherin shook his head. "No, sir."

Dumbledore waved his wand, and a life-size cloth dummy appeared to his left. "Perhaps you could demonstrate it for me, then? Spells often have unexpected effects, especially those which we invent ourselves." He reached under his desk and produced something—Snape's own wand.

Snape had a feeling this wouldn't turn out well, but he couldn't see any reason not to oblige the Headmaster, so he took his wand and cast the curse. "_Sectumsempra!_" A large gash appeared on the dummy's cheek, and another on its chest; Snape was sure, if it had blood, that it would be bleeding profusely.

He was shocked; not really horrified, but certainly shocked.

"It would appear," said Dumbledore gravely, "that Harry was right to prevent your casting this spell."

"Thank you for returning my wand, sir," said Snape after a moment.

"Indeed, Severus." Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Severus. . . please do try to use restraint in the future. I understand your fascination with the Dark Arts, and I do not condemn it, do not think you evil for it; you know this. Choices, not abilities. But remember as well that the Dark is much more dangerous, much more chaotic, much more _risky_ than the magic that is taught in classes here—to the caster as well as the recipient. Take care not to lose yourself in its depths." He paused for a moment. "And it would do you good," he said finally, "to consider that if your spell had hit last night, even with your lack of knowledge of its results, you would have been punished most severely."

"Thank you, Headmaster. I will try to remember your words."

"Now, I do believe you have classes to attend. Remember, if you need anything, my door is open."

Severus stood up with a nod and walked out the door. _I will never understand him._

_And as much as I hate to say it, I do respect him. And I will work with him, not against him, if I can._

_I just hope I have a choice in the matter._

* * *

"Hello, Lily," said Snape as he approached their customary table in the library. 

"Snape," she replied neutrally.

Snape frowned. "What is it?"

Lily glared at him. "Apart from the fact you called me a Mudblood, you mean? I didn't think _friends_ used that term. If you think me _inferior_, you can just go back to your dungeon."

_I'm not really your friend, but—_ "I'm sorry, Lily," he said with a sigh. "It just sort of—slipped out, I guess. It's not how I really feel. I was trying to seem strong to Potter, and I put you down to do it. I'm sorry."

Lily gave a weak smile. "I accept your apology, _Severus_. Now, what did you think of that potion today?" They both pulled out their textbooks and discussed the Draught, exchanging notes of what worked and what didn't.

"I'm suspicious about Potter," said Snape some time later.

"Why? I know he's an arrogant prat, but I don't think he's hiding anything."

"Oh? You haven't noticed Lupin going away every month? But I was talking about the other Potter. Harry. There is _no way_ he could've known that spell."

"The one starting with '_Sectumsem—_'?"

"Yeah, _Sectumsempra_. I invented it last year, used it nonverbally on James at one point—it's a cutting curse. But I've never written it anywhere except this Potions textbook, and I've never used it verbally. Ever."

Lily frowned. "It does seem odd, that he recognized it before you even finished saying the incantation—and that he reacted so strongly to it."

"The odd thing is, and I really hate to say this, but Potter was _right_. It _is_ really dangerous verbally. Dumbledore asked me to demonstrate it for him after he gave me back his wand, and it made a bloody huge gash on the chest of the dummy I cast it on. A real person probably would bleed to death in minutes." A strange glint appeared in his beetle-black eyes. "So the question becomes: _How did Potter know, when even I didn't?_"

Lily shook her head. "I have no idea. But Harry Potter _does_ seem to be hiding something. We don't know enough to say what, though."

"Not enough information," agreed Snape. "Something else—Dumbledore calls him Harry, like he calls me Severus. I don't know of anyone else he does that for."

"Only people who are specifically important to him for a non-academic reason. So whatever is up with Harry, Dumbledore knows and thinks it's important."

"Like I said, not enough information. I'm going to get that Potions essay out of the way."

Then silence, apart from the scrape of quill on parchment.

_Yet another thing Harry is hiding,_ considered Lily as she wrote about the properties of wolfsbane. _How could he know something like that?_

* * *

Breakfast on Friday morning was relatively uneventful until Harry grabbed his pumpkin juice. 

_What's with that pink tinge?_ Most people probably wouldn't have noticed it, but a year around Mad-Eye Moody hadn't been without its effects.

Harry looked around furtively; the Marauders were a few seats down, talking loudly. He turned to Ginny on his right and whispered, "I think there's something in my pumpkin juice."

Ginny took a look and nodded silently in agreement.

"Ideas?"

"Allow me." She grinned. With a wave of her wand and a whispered incantation Harry couldn't make out, the pink tinge disappeared. "It's in James's juice now."

Harry laughed silently. "Nice one, Gin. Now we wait."

They didn't have to wait very long; about twenty seconds later, James took a swig of pumpkin juice—and the surrounding students erupted in laughter. He now had greasy black hair that would have looked normal on, say, Severus Snape . . . not to mention the neon pink skin.

Even Peter laughed. "Impaled upon your own sword there, Prongs?"

"And didn't you say something about this being unbreakable except on a timer?" added Remus helpfully from his seat next to Danger.

James just scowled at them.

* * *

"How do the Marauders do their pranks, anyway?" Harry asked Hermione later that day, when all four were studying in the common room. _If I'm going to be just enjoying a 'normal life' here for the time being, I might as well make the most of it._

"Oh, lots of ways," said Hermione enthusiastically. "I'd imagine they use potions for most of the directed ones, like the one you deflected at breakfast today, but for the big ones like I've heard Fred and George mention there are certain charms that help. Specifically, there's something called a Gateway Charm that you can set up over a doorway and then 'charge' by sending charms at it; then anyone who walks though it will get hit with one of the charms at random. There's also a variant that makes the charms 'stick' but not show up until you pass another, differently-prepared Gateway . . . It's all very interesting, and the Marauders really do have a lot of talent. It's a pity they waste it, really."

"Interesting," he mused and turned back to his book, trying very hard not to appear as excited as he was. _Hermione, you're brilliant!_

After dinner, Ginny looked up the appropriate spells in an old library book. Apparently, they were originally designed for "security purposes." _Is that the code word for pranks these days?_

That night, Harry and Ginny waited until two o'clock A.M. to try to avoid another late-night Slytherin common room occupant. They succeeded; the room was empty this time. Ginny set up the Latent Gateway Charm on the entrance to the sixth-year dorms, and Harry fired about twenty red and gold Color-Change Charms at it. They returned to the Den, this time leaving by way of the kitchens (kitchens led to kitchens with "Thank you, Godric," they discovered after a bit of experimentation), and set up the Gateway Activation Charm around the doors to the Great Hall.

_Oh, this will be great,_ thought Harry as the two snuck back to bed.

* * *

The next morning, all the sixth-year Slytherins were showing some unintentional not-their-own-House pride. Robes were red or gold, or hair was colored; one person even got one red and one gold eyebrow. 

Severus Snape, though, was by far the worst affected; he had red and gold stripes on his robes and in his hair. Even his nose was red, giving him the impression of a scowling clown. Apparently, he was one for nighttime wandering, and had hit the Gateway multiple times.

Over their protests, James and Sirius were given detentions. Hermione shot Harry a withering look, receiving a practiced innocent expression in response, but finally smiled and shook her head. _We all need a bit of fun sometimes,_ she mouthed.

Harry was sure he had never heard Gryffindor table laugh so hard.

* * *

Peter Pettigrew walked quietly to the seventh-floor corridor the sign had indicated. 

_This should be fun. Learn something, and if I don't like it I can always just quit._

_And I'd _really _like to know how they enchanted the sign like that._ Peter had tried to tell Remus about the Defense club (there was still a rift between them and the other two Marauders), but Remus hadn't understood a word of it until he saw the sign.

_I wonder who's running it? I heard there were signs in all the common rooms, so I doubt it's a student . . . maybe Flitwick? I heard he's a duelling champion._

He arrived at the prescribed corridor, and indeed there were a few other students milling about, but there was no door in sight, and Peter was pretty sure they wouldn't just be meeting in the corridor.

Wait—this corridor seemed familiar for some reason . . .

A girl Peter knew by sight but not by name cleared her throat. "Hi, Peter—right?"

"Yeah, Peter Pettigrew. And you are . . .?" Internally, he was quite surprised; _no one_ knew his name. He was just a little tagalong—he had been until this year, at least.

"Rachel Trent. Sixth year Ravenclaw," she responded. Peter took a second to look at her a bit more closely; she was rather petite, brunette with rather wiry hair, not ugly but not the kind of girl most boys would fawn over either.

"Nice to meet you, Rachel," he said amiably.

"And you." Rachel paused for a moment, as if surveying him more closely. "You've changed, you know."

"What? How?" _And certainly not the first time I've heard that, but this time from someone I didn't even know? Merlin, my reputation follows me everywhere._

"Last year, you weren't a very good friend. Just along for the ride, not really sure which side you were on, scared, sitting the fence." She smiled to lessen the sting. "I've always had a bit of affection for you—a loner, the odd one out even with your friends—but I didn't want to get close to you as you were. You're not like that anymore. You've decided," she finished, her voice sounding strange, a bit ethereal.

_Decided what?_ Peter wanted to ask, but he decided not to. Inwardly, he marveled; Rachel had seen right through him. That was _exactly_ how he _had_ felt. But now? He felt a strange drive to explain himself. "I guess things changed after my dad was killed. He was a Death Eater, you know. I never knew until his body appeared in our house with a note."

Rachel closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head sympathetically. "That must have been awful."

"In a way, it was. I mean—he was my dad, you know? Not the best dad, but mine. My family.

"He got really Dark a couple years back. I didn't understand it at the time, but now I do. Started ranting about pureblood supremacy and all that. And I didn't really _believe_ it, but I didn't dismiss it either, because he was my dad. I didn't really know what to think. So yeah, I guess I was sitting the fence, sort of."

"But not now," said Rachel.

"No," affirmed Peter, "not now. After Dad died, I really had a chance to think, a lot. I've never really done that before. My mum is a very quiet person—loving, but she never would talk about something like that. So I had to figure it out for myself." He paused, breathed in, breathed out, slowly. "And I decided I wanted to _do something_. Apply myself. Maybe make a bit of a difference." He smiled weakly, but it turned into a grimace. "My dad proved that's easy to do by being bad. I want to do it being good."

Rachel grinned widely as he finished this little speech. "You're driven, Peter. And I have no idea how or why." She shook her head. "I never expected you to grow a backbone, I must say. But I'm glad you have."

Peter smiled weakly again, but this time it stayed. "Yeah, I know, Wormtail with a backbone. Boggles the mind. But how do you know me so well, anyway?"

She shrugged in response. "I'm good at reading people," she said. "I think I might be some sort of a minor Seer; I see things about people that usually they only see about themselves. That's why I don't have that many friends, actually; people don't usually like it when someone reminds them of their weaknesses. And I'm definitely not normal for a Ravenclaw. Not that good in classes, really."

"Well, I guess we have something in common, then." Peter laughed. "So why are you here?"

"Same reason as you, I guess. I want to do something for good, with good people by my side. And you find more of those here than you do most places."

"Hey, works for me."

At that moment, Harry Potter walked up with his three friends. Harry paced back and forth in front of a wall, ignoring the odd looks he was getting, until a door appeared.

_The Room of Requirement? And how the _hell _did he know about that?_ wondered Peter.

"All right, everbody in," he called.

The thirty or so students filed in—and gaped in astonishment. The room had bookshelves full of Defense books, cushions on the floor for Stunning practice, a raised platform at the far end, and circles drawn on the floor. Though they didn't know it, it was the same room as Harry had used for the D.A. during his fifth year.

Peter watched as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny made their way up to the stage. "Who's teaching this thing?" someone called.

"I am," said Harry. "Welcome to the D.A. Officially, it stands for the Defense Association. Unofficially, it stands for whatever you want." A bit of nervous laughter. "You've all had Professor Johnson by now, and honestly, he's not the best teacher."

"That's an understatement!" called another student.

Harry smiled. "Well, yeah. Anyway, I figured there'd be a lot of you who wanted more than he was offering, so I started this club. It's going to be entirely practical Defense. I don't care why you're here, as long as you're not planning to help Voldemort." Gasps and shudders at the name. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, it's just a NAME, people! Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself." He didn't see Lily adopt a curious expression at that phrase.

"Anyway, that's about it. If you're not interested, leave now."

"Wait!" called the first speaker. "What makes you so qualified to teach us, anyway?" His tone was clearly skeptical.

"If you're determined to be a skeptic, you probably won't believe me," responded Harry. "But I've faced Voldemort and his Death Eaters a couple times, managed to escape with my life, and learned quite a bit along the way. Remember, you don't have to be here."

"Ha! You wish!" The skeptic turned and marched out the door.

"Anyone else?" asked Harry.

No one spoke. No one moved.

"All right, then."

"Wait!" exclaimed yet another kid. "How did you escape V– Vol– You-Know-Who, anyway?"

"As I believe our Transfiguration teacher would say, 'sheer dumb luck'," said Harry, doing a good impression of Professor McGonagall. More laughter greeted him. "Honestly, though, it has very little to do with how much you know. You can study curses and counter-curses all you like, but once you get out there it's just you and your wand and the most evil guys you've ever seen, and hell, it's _scary_, and you have to keep your wits about you, because if you don't, you're dead. It's hard to explain; best to avoid him if you can, and face him proudly if you must. Any more questions before we get started?"

There weren't any.

"All right, then. As I was going to say, these are my friends Ron, Hermione, and Ginny—" he indicated them— "and they'll be helping me teach. They know almost as much as I do," Harry said with a smile. "Now, let's pair up and practice the Disarming Charm, _Expelliarmus_. And before you object, it's saved my life more than once."

The students paired off with minimal fuss, and Harry could see already that he had a good group. Not many Slytherins, and the ones that were there weren't universally hated. _No Snape, thank Merlin._ As with the fifth year D.A., most didn't really have even _Expelliarmus_ mastered, and so Harry did as he had done before, going around and giving advice. The students definitely did seem more motivated in this time, though. _Probably Voldemort's influence._

_James and Sirius aren't here,_ he noticed after his first round of help-giving. _No surprises there. But Remus and Peter are . . . guess they believed me after all._

After about an hour of various spells being thrown around, Harry Required a whistle and blew it. "Good job, everyone. Next meeting is a week from today, same time, same place. If there are conflicts, we'll change it. Dismissed."

Everyone left, with one exception: a sixth-year Ravenclaw. "Rachel, right?" asked Harry. (He had made an effort to learn everyone's names.) "What is it?"

"You don't trust Peter," she said rather matter-of-factly.

Harry frowned. "Not really, to tell the truth."

"You distrust him for what he would have become, not what he will. Remember, Peter will not become what you know him to be."

"Okay, thanks for the advice," said Harry, still confused. "I'll try to let go of my preconceptions, and I'm sorry I have them. Thank you for your reassurance."

She smiled a bit. "Honestly, last year I probably would've felt the same. But he _has_ changed."

"See you on Thursday, then." Rachel turned and left the room.

_I guess I should give Peter a clean slate, then,_ he figured. _Listen to Hermione. Rachel reminds me a bit of Luna, to tell the truth. Not quite so 'out-there', but she has that same ability to see right through you . . ._

* * *

The first D.A. meeting was a huge success, and at least five new members joined in time for the second one, James and Sirius sadly still not among them. Life at Hogwarts passed normally: classes, homework, pranks from the Marauders, and the daily news of attacks by Voldemort . . . 

On Monday, September 13, the seventh-years learned and practiced the Animagus form scrying spell in Transfiguration. Sure enough, Ron was a red-feathered hawk and Hermione a calico cat; Danger's prophecy was beginning to make sense. (Harry was a black wolf, hair a bit ruffled, with his piercing green eyes and a lighter patch of fur in the shape of his scar.)

_If Ron's the hawk, I'm the lion's son . . . which is odd, because I _know _my dad's a stag._

_Wait a second . . . lion's son . . . would that have anything to do with Gryffindor? Godric's symbol was a lion . . ._

_Maybe it just applies to that "Only a true Gryffindor" thing Dumbledore mentioned second year when I got the sword out of the hat._ Still, for some reason, that didn't seem _quite_ right . . .

Saturday the 18th was the first Hogsmeade weekend of term. The four time-travelers went together, as did Remus and Danger, and Peter and Rachel. Lily was on a date with a seventh-year named Greg Meyers whom Harry privately thought a bit dull, and James, Sirius, and Aletha went as friends.

As one might expect, all five of these groups spent a lot of time in the Three Broomsticks.

"Where to next?" asked Sirius after he had eaten. "Zonko's?"

"How about Gladrags?" offered Aletha, smiling wickedly.

Sirius spluttered in disgust. "Gladrags? _Robes?_ No _way_, Letha! We're _guys_!"

"And it might do you _guys_ a bit of good to consider _looking good_ for the _girls who like you_!" exclaimed Aletha, suddenly furious.

"We already do," offered James.

Aletha groaned in frustration. "You—are—so—_arrogant_! Both of you! I have just HAD IT with your ATTITUDES! I'll see you at Quidditch tryouts, Sirius Black." She stood up and stalked out of the bar, Sirius still smarting and shaking his head in disbelief.

"What was that about?" he whispered to James, who just shrugged.

"I don't know. Girls are weird."

From the next table over, Harry quietly asked Ginny, "Remind you of anyone?"

Ginny gave an odd cough remniscent of "_RonandHermione!_" Said two glared at her. "Hey, it's true," she defended. "You two _did_ argue a lot before you got together. I bet we can expect the same from them."

Meanwhile, Lily and Greg were chatting apparently amiably over a plate of crisps. Internally, though, Lily was frustrated. _Can't he just _shut up _about his twenty-six dozen Arithmancy projects?_ she thought viciously. Really, though, she knew that wasn't the problem. What was it, then? _He's nice enough, he respects me, he follows the rules—unlike _some people—_and he's intelligent. What else am I looking for?_

_Maybe it's the fact that he seems to think I really _am _as goody two-shoes as I seem? Or that _he _is as goody two-shoes as I seem?_

Then, as if to make her thankful for what she did have, James Potter chose that moment to walk by. "Hello, Evans," he said, flashing his trademark lopsided grin.

"Oh, shove off, Potter," replied Lily coldly. "And that," she said, turning back to Greg, "is James Potter, the arrogant prat who has been trying to get me to go out with him for three years now. It'll be a cold day in Hell when _that_ happens."

"Why do you dislike him so much?"

"Didn't you hear me? He's an arrogant prat!" Lily said heatedly. "He— he struts around the castle like he owns it, always hexing people and— ruffling up his hair to make it seem like he just got off his broomstick, and— he—makes—me—sick!" _And why can't I come up with anything worse to say about him? Why was it hard even to say that? What's wrong with me?_ "I'm going to get another butterbeer."

As Lily walked by the time-travellers' table, she heard a faint snatch of something Harry said. ". . . weird seeing my mum with another guy, even if I know she's not going to marry him . . ." And was she mistaken, or did his eyes flicker towards _her_ as he said that?

_What's up?_ Before she could ponder that statement, though, Danger erupted in tears and ran out of the building, Remus close behind.

_What is it with everyone today?_

* * *

Something in conversation had made Danger think of her parents—she couldn't even remember what anymore—and she just couldn't take it anymore. She ran out of the Three Broomsticks, ran down High Street of Hogsmeade, ran all the way to the gates of Hogwarts, all the way up to the Gryffindor common room, not even noticing Remus running after her, calling her name. All she knew was the huge, bottomless pit of despair that had opened up inside her yet again—the despair that she had only diverted, not dealt with, a month ago when she hastily took Professor Dumbledore up on his offer. 

Her parents were _dead_, damnit! _Dead!_ What right did she have to be enjoying herself? Making something of herself? She would never see them again! It finally hit her, the same feelings she had been struggling with when Dumbledore appeared out of nowhere and offered her an out, but multiplied tenfold for her ignoring them. She just wanted to get away, away from everyone, adjust her surroundings to make them reflect how she felt—desolate, abandoned, alone.

"Thank you, Godric," she burst out as she approached the Gryffindor common room fireplace. Harry had told her about the Den, and said she could use it "for any reason you might need." Well, this qualified. She slid down the tube, an action that might ordinarily make her laugh happily but now just deepened her abiding sadness. It dumped her out on the bed, and she collapsed on it. "Thank you, Godric," she sobbed, and watched with grim satisfaction as the passageway closed.

_Alone._

Danger put her head in her hands and wept. For the parents she had lost, for the years of their lives she would never know, she cried until she thought she could cry no more—and still she continued.

She barely noticed another presence sliding down the passage until it—he, Remus Lupin—fell out onto the bed. Danger latched onto him, just held him close as she continued to cry for the two beautiful lives so unfairly, harshly, prematurely taken by those evil, evil men.

Remus's feelings of awkwardness were apparent on his face, and Danger would probably have teased him for it if she hadn't been so torn herself, but at least he made a valiant effort to comfort her. "Shh. . . it's okay, Danger, it'll be okay."

She lifted her head from his shoulder and shook it violently. "No," she said, her voice little more than a whisper. "It's not okay. My parents are dead, for God's sake. _Dead!_ I've been trying to ignore it for the last month, throwing myself into my work, but it didn't work, it only made it worse . . ." She broke down into fresh sobs. Images from that night flashed through her head.

"You must think I'm so silly," she sniffled a few minutes later.

"Not at all, Danger. You lost both your parents at once. I'd say you're entitled to be much more upset than you are. I can't imagine what I'd do if—" Remus broke off, unable to complete the sentence. "I know you can't just focus on the bad, though. Try to remember the good times too, and your loss will be easier to bear . . . I hope. Merlin, it just tears me up seeing you like this."

Danger gave a weak half-smile. "I'll try," she whispered. "Let's see," she said, her voice becoming stronger. "A story. My mum _hated_ spiders, you know. Just _hated_ them. So, of course, Aletha finds this _huge_ spider and sticks it in our mailbox. I swear, I heard her shriek all the way in the library."

Remus laughed, and Danger had to follow suit.

_Does it dishonor them, to talk about their lives so lightly?_

_No, not at all,_ she realized firmly. _This is how they would want to be remembered._

_With laughter amid the tears._

* * *

Harry and his time-traveling friends walked into the Gryffindor common room and sat down with a sigh. It had been a rather _long_ day in Hogsmeade—fun, but long. Harry's gaze fell on Remus and Danger, sitting on a couch together; Danger's eyes were a bit red, but she was smiling, and they looked fine. 

_Thankfully. Probably Danger's parents—she never grieved for them before today. I should know, I'm the same way with people I lose._

And . . . why was Lily Evans stalking towards them with a determined expression?

"We need to talk. In private. Now," she said firmly.

Harry looked around. The common room was actually remarkably empty for just after a Hogsmeade day. _Everyone's probably at dinner,_ he realized. "Alright, follow me. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, come on." He walked over to the fireplace and whispered the password. "Come down when I give the all-clear," he said softly, then jumped into the slide, landing finally on the lush Gryffindor bedroom bed.

"All right, come down, Lily," he called. She did so, and looked around in wonder as she emerged.

"What _is_ this place?"

Hermione, who came down just after Lily, answered her question. "Officially, from something one of the house-elves said, we think it's called the Heart of Hogwarts; but we just call it the Den. There're four bedrooms, a kitchen, library, indoor Quidditch pitch, and a bathroom; they each lead somewhere different. The bedrooms go to the common rooms." She looked up at the ceiling. "All clear, Ron!"

"Wow," breathed Lily. "And this is all yours?"

"Pretty much," said Ron with a cheeky grin as he emerged. He turned back to the ceiling. "Thank you, Godric." A light grating sound was heard as the passageway closed over again. "Yeah, it's ours. One of the portraits down here said so." By this point, all four had walked into the central room. "House colors, as you can see."

"Yeah . . . anyway, Harry, you have a _lot_ of explaining to do. Are you four from the future?"

Harry smiled shyly and nodded. "Always knew you'd be the first to figure it out, m— Lily. I think we need to sit down . . . hey, does this room get any more comfortable?"

"Just tell it what you want," called a familiar voice.

"Okay, thanks, Alex," responded Harry loudly. "That's the portrait I mentioned," he said. "All right: Gryffindor common room replica, please."

The room changed around them to match. "Wicked," gaped Ron.

"Okay, Lily, you might as well get comfortable," said Harry resignedly. "It's a long story, and definitely not a good one."

"I'm listening," said Lily eagerly. "Come on, I want to know what happens!"

"Of course, _Mrs. Potter_," said Ginny, grinning evilly.

Lily just gaped at them. "You mean— James— and I— get MARRIED! And have a BABY? What was I THINKING?"

Harry burst into laughter at the indignant expression on her face. "Yeah, you do. Mum. Merlin, I've always wanted to say that." He shook his head, and his smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. "Anyway: I was born July 31, 1980. I don't know much about my first year or so of life. Halloween 1981, Voldemort came to your house and killed you and James." Harry's voice cracked, and Lily's eyes glistened, but he forced himself to continue. "He tried to kill me, too, but his curse backfired and hit _him_ instead." Lily was even more surprised by this revelation than the last. "Dumbledore thinks it had something to do with a monther's love, the fact that you willingly gave your life for mine. The newspapers called me the 'Boy-Who-Lived'."

Both of them were silently crying by this point. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry," said Lily.

Harry walked over and hugged her tightly, never wanting to let go. "Don't be, Mum," he whispered. "You did everything you could, and I _know_ how much you love me. Even your death provided a lingering protection that helped me to fend off Voldemort once."

Reluctantly, Harry let her go and returned to his seat next to Ginny. Words could not describe how he felt at this moment. Something he had been half-hoping, half-dreaming for all his life had finally happened.

He knew his parents.

And he didn't have to die for it.

Harry continued his narration. "Anyway, Sirius was supposed to be my guardian if anything happened to you two—but that didn't work. You were in hiding under the Fidelius Charm, and Peter Pettigrew was your Secret-Keeper. Only nobody knew that—you did a bluff, told everyone Sirius was the Secret-Keeper and switched at the last minute. And _no one knew_ except you, James, Sirius, and Peter.

"You didn't know it, but in my timeline Peter was a Death Eater. He betrayed you to Voldemort."

"So that's why you didn't seem to like him that much," realized Lily.

"Actually, I was barely restraining myself from strangling him," said Harry lightly. "It helped that he's so different than I remember him, and a sixth-year Ravenclaw in the D.A. named Rachel Trent told me basically that he changed and he wouldn't become what I remembered him as. So it's less pronounced now.

"Anyway—Sirius saw that you and James had died. He was the first one on scene—found me lying in the rubble, wanted to take me with him, but Hagrid got there and said he was to take me—Dumbledore's orders. Apparently I would have a degree of protection with blood relatives."

Lily turned white. "Please, _please_ tell me James has a brother or something."

Harry shook his head. "Nope. Dumbledore sent me to the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and their whale of a son Dudley."

Despite herself, Lily snorted. "'Dudley'. That's exactly the kind of thing Petunia would name her son." Suddenly, she scowled. "But how did they treat you?" Her gaze bored into Harry's. "If they abused you, I'll—"

"They didn't hit me, if that's what you're asking," sighed Harry. "They did, however, treat me as if I didn't deserve to exist. I slept in the cupboard under the stairs, did pretty much all the chores in the house, didn't get anything for my birthday, you know."

Lily's face was becoming very red, very rapidly. "I am going to have _words_ with my _dear_ sister. And with Dumbledore. I can't believe him! He _must_ have known how they would act!"

It was Hermione who spoke next. "Lily, calm down. _This_ Dumbledore hasn't done anything to deserve your wrath. Neither has _this_ Petunia, though I can't deny I'd love for her to get it." She flashed a cheeky grin. "Harry is _fine_," reassured Hermione. "I have no idea how it happened, with the stuff he's had to go through, but he's one of the strongest people I know."

"Best friend I've got," said Ron.

"And darn good at kissing," offered Ginny. "What?" she asked innocently as everyone in the room broke up laughing—with the exception of Harry, who was blushing madly in embarrassment

"But Harry, it's your girlfriend's _duty_ to embarrass you in front of your parents," said Hermione slowly in between fits of laughter.

"Oh, shut up, all of you," demanded Harry with a mock stern expression before he too cracked up. "Okay, it _is_ pretty funny, I guess. But we do have a lot more to tell."

For the next hour, the four shared stories of their exploits at Hogwarts, leaving nothing out: how they had saved the Sorceror's Stone, how Harry had saved Ginny from the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, how Harry had found the truth of his godfather's false imprisonment. Harry finally talked about some things he had always kept bottled up before—Lily and James coming out of Voldemort's wand during Priori Incantatem, Sirius falling through the veil, the ill-fated Horcrux hunt—and it was strangely healing to discuss it with a member of his own family.

_Family. That thing I thought I'd never have._

"And so here we are," finished Harry. "Here to stay."

Everyone was silent for a minute. Both Lily and Harry had to wipe their eyes a few times. Finally, Lily said, her voice thick with emotion, "Thank you, Harry. I am proud to call you my son."

The two hugged again, and to Harry, nothing else mattered. Not the Horcruxes, not Voldemort, not the fact that James and Sirius were _still_ being gits.

He had his mother back.

* * *

(A/N: I nearly cried writing the Danger/Remus and Harry-tells-Lily scenes. 

The characters' Animagus forms are the same as those in the Dangerverse, which belongs to Anne Walsh / whydoyouneedtoknow. I don't think I used anything else _new_ from it in this chapter.

I'm getting my wisdom teeth out on Friday, so I'll either be writing a lot or not at all over the weekend. And then school starts a week from today. Expect updates to be a bit slower in the future.

Next chapter: "Growing Up," in which the Marauders do just that in the fallout of a VERY poorly thought-out "prank" by Sirius . . . you probably already know what I'm talking about.

Keep those reviews coming! The more you review, the faster I write!)


	6. Growing Up

**Chapter 6: Growing Up**.

Hermione woke up groggily.

_Today feels different, somehow . . ._

She looked at the date on her watch and sat up. _Oh. Right. My birthday._

_Happy negative third birthday to me._

Hermione got out of bed and changed quietly; she felt like just sitting in the common room for a while. This was her first birthday in a new time, surrounded by familiar yet new faces.

_And nothing waiting for me from my parents . . ._

She walked down the stairs into the common room—and stopped short when she saw Danger already waiting there.

"Happy birthday, Hermione," said the latter with a half-smile.

"Thanks, Danger. It's just . . ." she looked around the common room to make sure no other early risers could overhear ". . . hard, this being my first birthday away from everyone I know, with nothing sent by my parents . . ."

"I know, Hermione. I feel the same way, trust me." Hermione immediately felt stupid. _Of course Danger understands how I feel! They were her parents too!_ "Here, take this," offered Danger, handing Hermione a ring. "May the future bring you—bring all of us—ample joy to offset past troubles."

Hermione looked at the ring and gasped. "Danger— this— this is my dad's wedding ring. Where did you get it?"

Danger's face took on a wistful, sad expression. "Off his finger, the day it happened. Mum's, too. I've been keeping them as . . . well, something to remind me what I'm fighting for. And then I realized today was your birthday, and they're your parents as much as mine . . . anyway, I want you to keep Dad's ring. If you want it."

Hermione smiled widely, tears in her eyes. "Of course I want it," she said, conjuring a light chain like the one she saw around Danger's neck to put it on. "Thank you, Danger, so, so much."

The two sisters hugged in remembrance of all they had lost—of all for which they fought.

* * *

The next few weeks passed uneventfully. James and Sirius still refused to forgive Harry for his "intrusion" and still treated D.A. with quiet disdain, but at least they had stopped attempts to prank him. (Walking around all day with his arch-enemy's most distinguishing characteristics had not suited James Potter well.)

A growing rift was developing between the Marauders. Remus and Peter spent time with the time-travellers and their respective girlfriends, worked diligently in classes, looked forward to D.A. meetings, and generally acted responsibly. James and Sirius were utterly opposite. They continued to maintain that Harry was a Dark spy who had somehow hoodwinked their erstwhile friends into betraying them, and they filled their time with (admittedly quite funny) pranks.

During these three weeks, James asked Lily out twelve times—none of which were successful, of course—and was in detention almost every day.

On October 6, Sirius was feeling particularly rebellious. _Those dratted new kids have been here for over a MONTH, and they _still _hate our Marauding!_ It was a hard pill to swallow. The Marauders' popularity, directed especially in the form of giggling girls at Sirius and James, had been boosting their already overinflated egos to staggering heights over the past few years, and now five clearly talented new students had arrived, treated them with relatively open disdain from the _very first day_—as if they had the right—and now Remus and Peter were hanging out with _them!_

_I need to do something about the new kids. This has gone on long enough._

As if to provide Sirius a momentary bit of fun, Harry Potter chose that moment to walk by the sofa on which he was sitting. He subtly stuck his foot out just as Harry passed, and the messy-haired boy tripped over it. "Hey, Potter! Watch where you're going!"

Harry stood up and leveled a glare in return, twinged with disappointment and . . . was that _sadness?_ _Why would Potter even _care _how we act?_ He didn't say anything, just kept walking, straight out of the common room and down to breakfast.

Sirius looked down at the carpeted floor. _Never fails. Any time Prongs or I try to get Potter in a confrontation or something, he just walks away. Doesn't he _care? It was mystifying to Sirius that anyone might _not_ respond forcefully when challenged.

And then he saw the locket.

It had landed on the floor, face up, chain splayed out behind it. It seemed at first to be rather plain, the sort of thing Sirius would expect any well-off pureblood to own a dozen of . . . and rather _familiar,_ too, almost as if he had seen it before.

Except for that scrap of parchment sticking out of it. Curiosity piqued, Sirius picked up the locket, opened it, unfolded the crumpled parchment inside, and read it.

_To the Dark Lord,  
I know I will be dead long before you read this,  
but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.  
I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.  
I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,  
you will be mortal once more.  
**R.A.B.** _

_Score one for my suspicions . . ._

"Prongs! Come here!"

James Potter snapped out of his staring at Lily and walked over to sit down next to Sirius. "What is it, Padfoot?"

"Potter had a locket in his pocket with this in it. It fell out. Read it."

James's eyes scanned the paper, his frown growing deeper as he read. "This does not look good."

"No," agreed Sirius, "it doesn't. It looks like Potter _is_ Dark after all. You know how my family is, and I know even _we_ don't have any books about Horcruxes. I heard my parents talking about it once."

"And the 'Dark Lord'. . . I've only ever heard Death Eaters call You-Know-Who that."

"Not to mention it's in my brother's handwriting!"

"_What?_" said James incredulously.

"Yeah, this is definitely Reggie's writing. His middle name is Alphard."

"So the question becomes, why does Potter have this in his pocket?"

"Who knows?" Sirius shrugged. "Maybe he's planning to send it to You-Know-Who. Maybe he's looking for the guy who wrote it. Whatever it is, it's definitely incriminating evidence. I'll confront him about it later today."

"Thanks, Padfoot."

* * *

Harry climbed in through the portrait hole after classes.

"Potter," said Sirius sharply, angrily.

Harry was mystified. What had he done to cause this reaction? Sure, the Marauders had been gits toward him ever since his arrival, but this went beyond that. "Yes, Sirius?"

"_This_—" he held up the locket— "fell out of your pocket this morning."

"When _you_ tripped me?"

Sirius continued as if he hadn't heard. "I read the note inside. It doesn't look good for you. I've been saying you're Dark for _weeks,_ Potter, and this proves it!" He held up the crumpled parchment triumphantly.

Harry frowned. "No, Sirius, it doesn't. I'm definitely not Dark, and you _really_ don't understand the context behind that note."

"I understand enough. It mentions Horcruxes, the 'Dark Lord', and it's in my brother's handwriting!" he burst out angrily.

"Your _brother?_" Harry was dumbfounded. "R.A.B. is _Regulus?_" He hit himself on the forehead. "I can't believe I missed that!" He turned and fixed Sirius with a piercing stare. "Now, please give me back that locket."

Sirius grinned. "No, I don't think so. 'I'll be giving _this_—" he held up the locket again— "to Professor Dumbledore, along with an explanation of the situation.' Doesn't feel so good when it's _you,_ does it?"

Harry just shook his head. "Merlin, Sirius, you really don't get it, do you? Go ahead, give Dumbledore the locket. I'm sure he'll just give it right back to me."

"You wish," muttered Sirius as he left the common room.

* * *

"Tootsie Pop!"

The gargoyle moved, revealing the staircase to the Headmaster's office. Professor McGonagall walked up the steps briskly, Sirius in tow. She knocked.

"Come in, Minerva, Mr. Black," came Professor Dumbledore's voice from behind the door.

McGonagall opened the door and ushered him in. "Albus," she said, "Mr. Black came to me this evening with what he claims is evidence that Harry Potter is involved in the Dark Arts. I don't really understand it, and he insisted upon seeing you, so here we are."

"Thank you, Minerva," said Dumbledore serenely. "I shall handle this from here." McGonagall turned and left as briskly as she had come, leaving Sirius standing in front of the Headmaster's desk.

"Now, Mr. Black, what is this 'evidence' you speak of?"

"This locket," said Sirius triumphantly, holding it up. "It had a note inside mentioning Horcruxes—I don't know anything about them, but I know they're so Dark my own family doesn't have any books on the subject, which says a lot—and referring to Voldemort as the 'Dark Lord'. Also, it's in my brother's handwriting, and signed 'R.A.B.'—his initials."

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "Mr. Black, I am quite sure you have overreacted in this case." He prodded the Pensieve on his desk, and an image of the same piece of parchment rose out of it. "This _is_ the note you saw, correct?"

Sirius gaped at him. "Yeah, it is. How do you know about it, anyway?"

"Harry showed it to me," said Dumbledore calmly. "But that does not concern you anyhow. What I would like to know is this: Why, upon reading this message, which I am sure you did not understand in the least, did you immediately jump to the _worst_ possible conclusion about it?"

"It just seemed suspicious, Professor. Normal students don't walk around with notes in their pockets about You-Know-Who's secrets, and it mentioned Horcruxes . . . it just seemed too much to be a coincidence."

"Coincidence it was not, Mr. Black, but neither was it in any way incriminating." Dumbledore's gaze was distinctly stern. "Do you remember what the note's creator wrote about his actions?"

"Yeah . . . he was trying to weaken You-Know-Who—"

"And you somehow 'knew' Harry was in possession of this note because he was in league with Voldemort, and not because he was working _against_ him and wanted to know about others who had done so?"

"Um . . ."

"Indeed, Mr. Black. Please do not be so overzealous in the future. I will trust you to give this back to Harry. Rest assured, I will know that it has been done." Dumbledore nodded slowly in a clear dismissal.

Sirius didn't leave, though. "But sir, don't you think there's something suspicious about Potter?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Mr. Black, I have said it before and I will say it again. There is nothing unsavoury about Harry or his goals. He is involved in much of which you can have no idea, but that does _not_ make him evil," he said firmly.

"Er . . . okay, Professor. Thank you." He turned and left.

_So Dumbledore somehow 'knows' he's not evil. That doesn't mean anything. He's said the same thing about Snape._

_I'll give Harry back his bloody locket, I guess. But I'm not going to forgive him._

* * *

Danger fell asleep almost instantly that night. She had had an odd feeling as she got in bed, but thought nothing of it . . .

Until, that is, she woke up in the middle of the night, with bad iambic tetrameter once again drumming through her head.

She groped in the darkness for a quill and parchment, and set the words in her head to paper. She barely even remembered what she wrote; there would be time enough to look it over in the morning.

As Danger drifted off once again to sleep, the light of the moon, a day away from full, filtered in through her dormitory window and illumintated the words she had messily scrawled in the darkness . . .

"_Prepare you now for coming night,  
On which the star will set alight  
A raven's quest, for to enthral  
He who a foe-turned friend you call.  
Seek not his shame; your words do naught  
But fuel that which must be forgot.   
Instead, lie low, in sight unseen,  
Allow the stag to intervene,  
Let wolf find wolf of darkness bright,  
And with your touch, forfend his plight.  
Then he shall see that which you knew,  
And find his way to future true."_

* * *

Sirius walked away from dinner, frowning in remembrance of his Defense class that day. Professor Johnson was probably the worst teacher he had ever had at Hogwarts. Maybe Potter _did_ have the right idea with his Defense club.

_No way. Knowing him, it's even more of a joke than class is. I don't need _anything _Potter's running._

Then he saw Snape, stalking down the corridor ahead of him. _That's Snivellus, walking around like an overgrown bat . . ._ and with a wave of his wand and a whispered incantation, Severus Snape had bat ears. He didn't seem to notice.

Suddenly, the now even more bat-looking Snape whirled around. "Black," he snarled. "_Expelliarmus! Petrificus Totalus!_" His voice changed to a drawl. "So _nice_ to see you in this position."

_Snivellus caught me,_ thought Sirius with a mental curse. He would have dearly loved to curse him into oblivion, but from his current position, lying frozen on the floor, he could do little more than widen his eyes in apparent surprise.

"Ah, yes. I certainly am enjoying this. Turnabout is fair play, is it not?"

Sirius's eyes narrowed, and he tried to open his mouth to make an indignant retort, but there wasn't anything he could do. And it seemed Snape knew that quite well. _The git! What's he playing at, attacking me like this?_

"I know you and your _friends,_" he spat the word, "are up to something, Black. Allow me to count the ways. One: Lupin was able to find me, _somehow,_ during my fourth year. Two: You have absolutely incomprehensible nicknames, yet you act as if they mean something. Three: Once a month, Lupin disappears for a few days. I know he's not visiting his sick _mother._ It's just about the worst excuse ever invented! Four: For one day during that period, the other three of you show up in class tired, as if you were up all night. Five: I've seen Lupin heading towards that Whomping Willow tree on the grounds.

"Well, Black? What do you have to say to that? Want me to keep looking for clues, until I figure out what it is you're doing, tell the whole school, and get the four of you expelled? Or will you just tell me, and save yourselves and me the trouble? _Terminare Petrificum Vocalis!_ You can talk now. Make it count."

_This is not good. Not good at all. Snivellus does pay attention to little details. Given enough time, he _could _figure it out. So . . ._

Sirius thought for a moment, until he seized upon something that would get Snivellus back adequately. He grinned ferally for a second, then quashed his excitement—it was another little detail that might alert Snape to something awry. "Oh, sod off, Snivellus. There's a knot on the Willow; press it with a stick and it freezes. Secret passageway underneath. Since you're so _smart,_ I'm sure you can connect the dots for yourself. Satisfied?"

Did Snape actually _smile?_ Not a chance, but there was certainly a strange glint in his eyes. "Indeed. _Finite!_" he cast, throwing Sirius back his wand. And as Snape turned to stalk away, Sirius was sure he caught the edge of a grin wider than any he'd ever seen on the git's face . . .

"And keep your overly large nose out of our business in the future!" yelled Sirius to his retreating back.

_Oh, this'll teach him. . ._ The equally well-hidden grin on Sirius's own face was even wider.

He practically skipped back to his dorm—it was tradition for the Marauders to meet up before sneaking out on full moon nights. As he walked, he amused himself by classifying the different forms Snape's reaction might take.

_Fear? Terror? Pants-wetting horror?_ He grinned wickedly at the last one.

_Oh, have I got something to tell Prongs . . ._

* * *

"You did _WHAT!_"

James Potter had been in his dormitory with Peter—Remus had already left for his transformation—inspecting his Invisibility Cloak. He was just shoving it into his pocket when Sirius walked in, grinning fit to burst, saying something James dearly hoped he had not heard correctly, because if he had, Padfoot was even more of an idiot than he usually seemed to be . . .

"I told Snape how to get past the Willow," Sirius repeated in an extremely annoying sing-song voice. "He ambushed me, told me if I didn't tell him where we went he'd find out and tell the whole school—so I 'saved him the trouble'. And knowing him, he'll just go anyway. Serves him right, the git!"

By the end of this explanation, James's face was positively white. "I can't bloody believe you, Padfoot! How long ago did you tell him?" he asked anxiously.

"About fifteen minutes. What? I don't see what the big deal is, Prongs! It's just some fun—"

"—that has gone _much_ too far," interrupted James, growling. "I'll have words for _you_ later," he yelled as he rushed out.

James ran through the castle, fervently hoping it wouldn't be too late, that Snape wouldn't get to Remus, for he knew the terrible consequences if he did—consequences to Snape, most of all to Remus. Sirius probably wouldn't get in trouble at all. _How I hate prejudice._

As he exited via the thankfully still open front doors, he looked up at the sky. Sure enough, the full moon had already risen over the horizon. On a normal night, Prongs would be standing guard outside the Willow, and Padfoot would be running through the tunnel to let Moony out. Wormtail would be scampering around, keeping the knot pressed when needed, maybe riding on Prongs's antlers . . .

But thanks to Sirius's hasty, ill-conceived, terminally stupid prank, tonight would not be a normal full moon night for the Marauders.

After he ran through the doors, James looked around quickly. Seeing no one who could observe his secret, he transformed into Prongs—the stag could run faster than he could as a human—and galloped toward the Whomping Willow.

There was a long stick near it.

_Merlin, this is bad. Snape is already down there!_

Prongs retransformed back into human form, grabbed the stick and prodded the magic knot on the Willow with it viciously; the thrashing tree instantly froze. James ran down, through the tunnel—he heard a howl from deep within—ran as fast as he could, cursing the fact that the space was too narrow for Prongs's voluminous antlers—ran full tilt until he ran _into_ someone.

It was Snape.

"Potter!" he snarled. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Saving your life," said James breathlessly. "Sirius was an idiot. I may hate you, but I don't want you dead. Follow me."

Snape just sneered in response. "Why should I? I'll bet you were in this all along. Just another attempt to make _me_ look pathetic. 'James Potter saves the day again!' Well, I'm not having it!" He wrenched himself free of James's grip and continued to run.

"Snape, wait! Severus! Stop!"

He did stop, if only for a moment, in utter shock that James had used his _proper_ first name for once. Then the cynical part of his brain caught up with him. "If I didn't know you," he snarled, "I might actually _believe_ you were trying to help me. But I do. As such, I know this is all one—big—_scam!_" He broke out into another run, James still close behind, still yelling for him to stop, and Snape continuing to ignore him . . .

Another howl rent the dark silence.

"Wh– What is that?" asked Snape shakily.

"It's what I've been warning you about, Snape! Just RUN, for Merlin's sake!" yelled James.

They were perilously close to the narrow entrance to the Shrieking Shack by now—close enough for Moony to smell. A furry gray face with gleaming blue eyes and an oddly shaped snout came into view. Soon, James was sure, it would be followed by a body, and the werewolf would chase them down the tunnel at a speed no human could match . . .

Snape didn't need telling twice. He ran. James wasn't about to just run after him, though; if he did that, they would _both_ be bitten, probably eaten.

Waving his wand, James conjured wooden slats to cover the small opening to the Shrieking Shack. _They won't hold for long, but it'll help, at least . . ._ Running back down the tunnel, conjuring anything and everything he could think of over his back as he did, he somehow managed to make it back to the Willow's entrance in one piece.

It was blocked by a violently thrashing branch.

James cursed inwardly. _Looks like Snape got out, but now I'm trapped._

_If I make it out of here alive, I am going to _kill _Sirius._

His pulse quickened and he began to breathe more rapidly as Moony crashed his way through the last few pieces of furniture he had created in the tunnel—he couldn't transform in here, he couldn't get out, and if something didn't happen _soon_ he was going to be werewolf food. Moony was getting closer, James could practically smell his breath—

The branch blocking the entrance whipped out of sight, and the rustling sounds outside stopped instantly. It was almost as if someone had pressed the knot, but James wasn't too interested in figuring out the _how_ of the situation at the moment.

He scrambled out of the passage not a moment too soon, transforming into Prongs the instant he was no longer constrained by the tight space. If the stag could have wiped its forehead, it would have done so.

Moony came barelling out of the Willow; Prongs's antlers met him head-on. The two struggled for a few minutes, until Moony grew bored of the game, turned, and sniffed the air. Even as a stag, Prongs was _extremely_ worried. If anyone was wandering around out here, Moony would head straight for him, and one animal couldn't protect all directions.

_I wish Padfoot was here._

_Actually, scratch that. After what he did, I'm glad he's not._

Moony turned and stared down a patch of air. Prongs couldn't tell for sure, but it seemed subtly different from the surrounding emptiness; there was a faint smell coming from it . . .

Then James's human brain caught up with his stag one. He realized what the presence of that smell meant and started shaking his head frantically; the gesture looked rather comical on a stag, but the emotion behind it was undeniable. _No, no, no, no, no . . ._ But there was nothing he could do. Prongs made a mad leap to cut off Moony, but he missed—Moony had bolted on ahead of him, and he was running _fast._

An Invisibility Cloak was thrown off, revealing Gertrude Granger—Danger. She was staring straight at the werewolf, but her expression wasn't one of fear.

It was more . . . _determination?_ How could any human be _determined_ when face-to-face with an angry werewolf? Even a wizard or witch—werewolves, as creatures of magic, were impervious to most spells. The only way to easily kill one was a silver projectile of some sort—James knew of something, the Silver Dart Curse, that would do it, but he doubted Danger knew it, and he was rather glad she didn't. He liked Remus _alive,_ after all.

Moony leapt into the air, his trajectory perfect for a pounce on Danger. Her face showed a flicker of fear, but quickly regained its composure.

_Is she out of her mind?_

The next few seconds seemed to take an eternity, as Prongs watched what he was sure would be the younger girl's last moments. He leapt into the fray, trying to push Moony aside, at least delay the inevitable . . .

It wasn't necessary. Danger dove to the ground and grabbed Moony's front left paw as it passed overhead.

A huge red spark—more like a small bolt of lightning—passed between Danger's hand and Moony's paw as both collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

Prongs walked up unsteadily and prodded Moony, then Danger, with his antlers. Neither stirred.

Fearfully, he retransformed and checked Danger's pulse. It was normal. _She's not dead, then. Just . . . unconscious? What _happened, _anyway? Is Moony okay?_ The Marauders' Animagus transformations had taught them quite a lot about canine physiology, and James knew where to check for a pulse on the large wolf. _Moony's alive too. It almost seems like he's just sleeping. Which is odd; I've _never _heard of a werewolf sleeping on full moon._

_I should really take Danger up to the Hospital Wing, but really . . . what would I say? She touched a werewolf and collapsed? I'm sure Madam Pomfrey would know _exactly _what to do for that one,_ he thought sarcastically.

_And I have the strangest feeling they shouldn't be separated . . ._

After the harrowing escape a few minutes prior, it was all a bit too much for James to wrap his head around. Seeking the comfort of a stag's simpler emotions, he transformed and lay down next to the unconscious couple.

_First time I've ever tried to sleep in Animagus form,_ James realized. It wasn't something he would usually have done, but it had been a long day and an even longer night, he didn't want to leave Moony and Danger alone, and he didn't know what else he could do. Comforting himself with the thought that any disturbance would surely wake him—stags, being fundamentally prey, were easily startled—Prongs drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_Last I knew, I was trapped in the Shrieking Shack, waiting for the moon to rise, wondering why Padfoot hadn't shown up._

_Now, I'm . . ._ he looked around and down at himself. _At Hogwarts? Wearing _dress robes?

Remus didn't recognize the room he was in, but the decor was certainly familiar. Two large doors, perhaps to the Great Hall, were slightly open, and music could be heard coming from inside; he thought he should recognize it, he had heard it before, but he couldn't for the life of him remember where . . .

"What's going on?" Remus asked aloud, to an empty room.

A room he thought was empty, anyway. "'What's going on', the man asks," spoke up Sirius Black from behind him. Remus wheeled around to see Sirius—_Sirius in three years or so_—leaning casually against the wall, wearing well-crafted crimson robes. "Merlin, Moony, I know you get nerves sometimes, but this is a new low. How do you forget your own wedding?"

_Wedding? Huh?_

The music changed from inside. "Come on, that's our cue!" Sirius practically propelled him through the magically opened doors, muttering, "Just like in rehearsals, Moony."

"If only I remembered them, Padfoot," he whispered, but Sirius didn't respond. _Of course he didn't. It's probably a dream,_ he realized. _Though certainly more real than any I've had before . . ._

As he stepped over the threshold, Remus couldn't help but gasp. It was indeed the Great Hall, but decorated unlike he had ever seen it. Instead of the long House tables, two sections of neat rows of bench-like white seats, filled with more people than Remus thought he knew, faced the dais upon which the groom and best man (Remus and Sirius) now stood. White ribbons and white flowers were everywhere, and a few yards away on the dais stood a balding man wearing what looked like the ceremonial robes of the Minister of Magic . . . The music was a processional now, and he watched as four ushers and four bridesmaids walked side-by-side down the aisle, followed by the maid of honor, alone and proud . . .

_And I recognize everyone,_ he realized with a start; the scene was so unreal that he had at first paid little attention to who these people were. _That's Harry with Ginny, Ron with Hermione, James with Lily, Peter with Rachel, and Aletha is the maid of honor . . ._

_Which would leave the bride as—_ But Remus's train of thought was cut off as she arrived and the crowd rose to its feet. Her face was veiled, but Remus recognized the man giving her away—none other than his own illustrious Headmaster. And as she walked, Remus was sure he could detect something niggingly familiar about her stature, her mannerisms . . .

The bride stepped up onto the dais and turned to face him. Dumbledore gently lifted her veil. Remus looked into her eyes, resplendent with joy, the face he knew and, dare he say it, _loved_ so well . . .

—_Danger._ Everything seemed to click into place. _This must be like the dream Danger told me about, the one that drop-kicked me into the world of the connected._

Snatches of that fateful first meeting drifted into Remus's mind. "_I was so happy to see you that I forgot I didn't know anything about you. And I grabbed your hand, and suddenly I did know—everything,"_ Danger had said. And as the couple joined hands, Remus found out what she had meant.

The nearly sixteen years of Gertrude "Danger" Granger's life played on fast-forward in his mind. In the course of what probably amounted to only a few seconds, he learned more about her than he had in the month they had known each other, more even than he suspected he would have learned in the coming year.

It was an amazing experience; Remus was sure he saw at least a flash of everything that had happened in her life, but with the context necessary to _understand_ those events, and the personality they had shaped, as well as he knew himself . . .

Danger's life had always been a simple one. She had no overarching cause, no unrealistic expectations of the future; she took each day as it came, found joy in the simple things, in the parents and home she loved above all else. Rather bookish, perhaps a bit scatter-brained, quiet, Gertrude Kelly Granger had few friends and only two confidants, but she wouldn't have traded her life for anything.

She was happy. No, more than that—happiness came and went, good days with bad ones. She was _content._

And then her parents were killed.

And on that dull, otherwise unremarkable night of Tuesday the seventeenth of August, her world was shattered into a million tiny pieces. Danger's parents had meant the world to her, and without them she felt alone, confused, desperate. Dumbledore had appeared the following day, forged her a path to follow out of the wilderness she felt confronted with—she took it without hesitation, simply because she had nothing else to hold onto. She had tried to push away her despair, drown it out with never-ending work, until finally it had burst out on that first Hogsmeade weekend. And she had formed new connections, had more people she needed and who needed her in return—_like me,_ Remus realized—and that allowed her to start working through her grief.

". . . as long as you both shall live?" finished the Minister.

He looked pointedly at Remus, who realized it was he being addressed, and responded, "Er, I do."

The Minister turned to Danger and repeated the question; this time Remus heard it in full. "I do," Danger's voice rang out through the Hall.

"By the power vested in me by the office of Minister of Magic, I do hereby pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Remus did as he was told.

_Wow. Again._ They had kissed before, but somehow this one managed to be even more amazing, even more _magical_—if that was even possible.

_As much as I might try to deny it, I am _definitely _in love._

They broke off the kiss, and the next minutes seemed to pass in a blur, so that the next thing Remus knew was dancing to something slow and beautiful—_by Bach?_—in each other's arms. Remus was pretty sure he had a beatific smile on his face.

Danger grinned impishly at him. "I figured out the last quartrain of last night's poem."

"All of it?" Danger had shown it to Remus that morning—_was that really less than twelve hours ago?_—and neither had understood a word of it.

"I think so. Let me see:  
_Let wolf find wolf of darkness bright,  
And with your touch, forfend his plight.   
Then he shall see that which you knew,  
And find his way to future true._

"The wolves are us, I'm pretty sure. 'Darkness bright' just means a night with a lot of light—the full moon. And with all the clues in both poems, I'm pretty sure I'm a wolf Animagus. So the first line basically says I have to find you. Which I did." She laid her head against his shoulder. "My handsome wolf."

"The third line—'see that which you knew'—that's referring to this dream?"

"Seems like it," Danger mumbled against Remus's shoulder. She lifted her head and looked him in the eye, a huge grin on her face. "But that's not the best part. 'And with your touch, forfend his plight?'"

Remus looked confused. "What plight? I don't have a—"

"Come on, _Moony,_ don't be daft," teased Danger as she shook her head, still smiling.

The emphasis she put on the word 'Moony' was too clear to be ignored. Remus gaped at her, hardly daring to believe she was saying what he thought she was, because it was just too impossible . . . "You— you—"

"Yeah, that 'plight'. When you transform, you lose your human mind in the wolf, right?"

Remus nodded, hardly trusting himself to speak.

Danger smiled even more widely, and Remus became acutely aware of just how beautiful she was. "I found out tonight that my magic reverses that. I'm a werewolf tamer, I guess you could say. When I touch you while you're transformed, you get your human mind back. _You_ get to be in control."

Remus was reasonably sure he was doing a good impression of a joyful goldfish right about now. _In control . . . Merlin, what that would mean . . ._

_I wouldn't have to worry about hurting people. Ever. I could have a job, a life. How did the poem put it? A 'future true'? No one would be afraid of me, I wouldn't wear myself out raging against the lack of food around me . . ._

_I could live a normal life._ His elation at this realization was indescribable. _Normal. A word I never would have applied to me._

But Remus had experienced too much hardship to gain hope when it all seemed so uncertain. _If it's true,_ he forced himself to qualify.

_Please, please, Merlin, _please _let it be true!_

_And I'd have to stay close to Danger, since she's the only one who can do the magic . . ._ Remus looked at the beautiful young woman in his arms. _No, somehow I don't think that would be a problem at all._

The music swelled up again. "Right now, Remus, you're the happiest I've ever seen you. And trust me, it's true."

"I'm the happiest I've ever _been,_" said Remus, still a bit dazed by the revelation and its wonderful consequences. "Thanks to you," he whispered so softly he doubted Danger heard. "For more reasons than one."

"And we know all about each other now, so I feel fully justified in saying this: I love you, Remus Lupin, wolf of my heart."

_This is, most definitely, the best thing that has ever, ever, _ever _happened to me._ Remus tried to reply, but his voice caught in his throat. He swallowed hard and tried to get the words in the right order—he'd never said them before, but it just seemed so _right._ "And I— I love _you,_ Gertrude Granger, Danger of my life."

Danger raised her eyebrows. "That sounds terrible," she said, deadpan. Remus was a bit worried until she cracked up laughing, and he followed suit. "It does, doesn't it," he gasped out some thirty seconds later.

"Hey, it's the thought that counts." Danger's grin was threatening to burst off her face, and Remus was sure his was similar.

They danced the dream away.

* * *

A slight rustling noise woke Prongs with a start. He stood up abruptly.

_Where am I, and why am I in my Animagus form?_

He looked around. _The Forbidden Forest?_ Memories of the night started coming back to him. _Moony! Danger!_ Sure enough, there they were, still out cold . . .

Danger stirred, streched, groaned slightly.

_She's waking up! Right! Next! To! A! Werewolf! Hopefully, Moony's still unconscious . . ._ Seeking to expedite the process, Prongs tapped her gently with his antlers.

She woke with a start. "Ow!" _Well, gently for a stag._

James didn't want to be human around Moony, just in case—werewolves ate _humans,_ after all, and the process of Animagus transformation was made much more difficult under pressure—so he did his best to gesture as a stag. He looked at Danger intently, _Danger,_ then at Moony, _that's a werewolf,_ then up to Gryffindor Tower, _and you should get away from him—right now._

"You want me to take Moony up to Gryffindor Tower?" she asked. "I suppose that's a good idea, but I'd need to borrow your cloak to cover him—Harry lent me his, but I don't think it'll fit both of us . . ."

Prongs snorted and shook his enormous head. He looked at Moony, then the Willow, then Danger, then up to the castle. _This is ridiculous._

"You want me to take Moony back to the Shrieking Shack, then go up to Gryffindor Tower _alone?_"

One enormous, antlered, very heavy head nodded.

It was Danger's turn to snort. "No, thank you. James, just turn human. Moony's not going to hurt you."

Grudgingly, he obliged. "What in Merlin's name are you talking about?" he burst out as soon as he had mouth, lips, and tongue to do it.

"Moony. Is. Harmless." Danger punctuated each word sharply. "How hard is that to understand?"

James rolled his eyes. "Considering he's a werewolf, I'd say, 'very'."

"Fine, then. I'll show you." She leaned over the werewolf and shook him gently. "Come on, Moony, wake up."

"Are you _trying_ to get us both killed?" James hissed. "He. Is. A. Werewolf! In this form, he doesn't care who he attacks! Human equals dead!"

Danger sighed but didn't stop her attempts to rouse the wolf. "If you don't believe me, just go back to the Tower. I'll explain more thoroughly tomorrow."

"Gladly." _Away from this madness._ He took his Invisibility Cloak out of a pocket and tossed it to Danger. "You need it. I don't. I've been sneaking around this school for five years," he said with a smirk. "Well, see you tomorrow." He transformed and galloped off.

_If she's even alive then . . . which, if she keeps acting like this, she won't be._

_I feel like I'm missing something here . . ._

* * *

Remus became dimly aware of someone shaking him. "All right, Mum, I'm up," he said.

Or he tried to, anyway. What actually came out was somewhere between a whimper and a growl.

_What the . . ._ He looked up at the full moon.

_Hold on, full moon? Shouldn't I be a wolf right now?_

He stood up. _Four feet. . ._ he looked down, _paws. . . I _am _a wolf._

Suddenly, his dream came back to him. _Danger. Werewolf taming. This. Is. UNREAL!_

Danger stood and grinned down at him. "Ah, I see you're finally up. How do you feel?"

_Amazing. Simply amazing. I can never tell you how much this means to me._ Moony howled with delight.

"So don't tell me, then. Come on, let's go up to Gryffindor Tower."

_I do _not _want to know what Filch would do if he found a werewolf wandering the halls._

"Nor do I. Which is why James lent his Invisibility Cloak, and I have Harry's." Danger tossed a cloak over the wolf; it actually fit him rather nicely. "_Heel,_ Moony."

He gave a rippling growl; mentally, he was laughing. Danger had put Harry's cloak on, but Moony didn't need to see her to follow; his amazingly keen wolf senses would have let him trail her by scent half-asleep. As he walked, his nose nearly exploded with the cacophony of smells wafting from the forest, along with a few more personal scents he recognized . . . James's, Danger's, Harry's (on the Cloak), . . . _Snape's? What is Snape doing here?_

"Tell you later," said Danger as they walked. Her voice was light, but somehow Remus knew she was very mad at someone (not him).

_How do I know that? Come to think of it, how can Danger hear me?_

She stopped. "I have absolutely no idea. Hold on a second; let me try something." **Can you hear this?** Danger's voice sounded in his mind.

Moony gave a slight start. **Loud and clear,** he responded.

**This is very interesting. Guess that answers that, then.** They continued to walk, through the huge double doors guarding the castle's entrance, up seven flights of stairs to the Fat Lady.

They didn't notice that they had passed by a corridor on the fourth floor near Dumbledore's office—a corridor Dumbledore was walking in, in fact.

**Take off your cloak,** suggested Remus as the Gryffindor portrait guard looked around curiously. **She can't see you.**

Danger did so, and the Fat Lady finally noticed them. "Out a bit late, are we?"

"Oh, you have no idea. Just leave the prosyletizing to McGonagall and let us in, will you? Bubotober."

"Fine, fine," muttered the Fat Lady as she swung open. Danger climbed in, and Moony leapt behind her—the opening was easy enough for a wolf of any kind to jump through. Unfortunately, his Invisibility Cloak wasn't so lucky, and a lupine head poked out.

And eight people they knew very well were sitting anxiously in the common room.

"Sirius is in bed," explained James. "I chewed him out pretty well when I got back. Hold on—_Moony?_"

The werewolf shook himself, causing the Invisibility Cloak covering him to fall off. Nearly everyone in the room backed up a step or two when they saw him. Then, quite clearly, Moony turned his head to look at James—and _winked._ James recoiled in shock.

**This is far, far too fun.**

**You're just far, far too cheerful,** replied Danger with a mental smirk. "He's tame," she reassured the group. "Thanks to a power of mine I still don't really understand."

Moony nodded, a trifle exaggeratedly.

Harry was the first to step forward, a bit hesitantly. "Er. . . I think we can trust that Danger's _not_ playing a prank on us right now. Not right after Sirius did what he did . . ."

**What did he do?**

**What part of 'tell you later' do you not understand? Don't worry, nothing bad happened. Luckily. I just don't want you to worry yet.**

"Anyway," he continued, "I think this discussion would be best continued in the Den. We do _not_ want the questions that would come of having a werewolf in the common room." Remus saw Aletha mouth, wide-eyed, the word "werewolf?"; evidently she was the only one who didn't know, or at least suspect. Harry walked to the fireplace and whispered something even Remus's highly enhanced wolf senses could barely make out.

"**Thank you, Godric" again? They know about that hiding place?**

**Oh, they discovered it. And it's much more than a hiding place. Trust me.**

A soft grating noise, and the hole by the fireplace reappeared in all its unglory. "All right, everyone down. Can Moony slide in this form?"

Danger's brown eyes swirled briefly with blue. "Of course. He says it should be even more fun as a wolf."

Hermione's eyes glinted with suppressed questions, but she kept her mouth shut.

Harry slid down first, and called down the others one by one, ushering them off the bed and into the main room. Finally, Danger emerged, and Moony fell out right on top of her.

**Oof! Why didn't you wait?**

**I did. Wolf hair is slicker, you know.**

Having guessed the reason, Harry snickered as they untangled themselves. "Thank you, Godric," he said, and the passageway closed itself off. "I trust you two with that password, but not the other Marauders—not yet, at least. Please keep it secret."

**Agreed.** "Agreed."

They all took seats in the Gryffindor common room replica the main room was still set to—Moony curled up on an armchair—and faced each other impatiently for a minute,

Hermione broke the silence. "I think some people—" she shot a pointed glance at Danger and at James— "have quite a lot to explain to the rest of us."

There were ten there. Three of the Marauders (Sirius was excluded for what he had done). Danger, Lily, Aletha. Remus surveyed the room with large eyes. **Everyone here, I would trust with my secrets—and my life, if it ever came down to that.** It was an amazing feeling; in a month, the number of people he trusted had tripled. _Even Aletha—I barely gave her a second glance before, but now I've been spending time with her because of Danger, and she really is a good person. In her own, stubborn way._ **They deserve to know.**

Danger relayed the message, and Moony punctuated her words with nods of his lupine head.

James grimaced. "Yesterday, I would have just told you to shove off," he said lightly. "However, Sirius did something really, extremely, unbearably stupid today—notice he's the only one of us not here?—and I only barely saved Snape's life. I hate him, all right, but I don't want him dead, and I definitely don't want Moony to get at him. I guess it sort of made me realize how petty I've been being. So I guess I'll tell you."

Moony's hackles raised as James explained himself. **What did— did I—**

**It's fine,** soothed Danger. **No thanks to Sirius, though. Just _listen,_ you big dog.**

"But first, I'd like to know how much you know already," James finished with a smile.

Harry spoke for all four time-travelers. "Remus—Moony—is a werewolf. We don't care, by the way. The three of you somehow spend full moons with him—from your nicknames, I'd say you're Animagi, which is damn impressive."

"Werewolf?" asked Aletha astonishedly.

"There wolf," replied Danger in a guttaral voice, pointing to Remus. "There castle." She pointed up.

Aletha laughed and shook her head. "Very funny, Danger." She regarded Remus curiously. "Remus, right? I never even guessed. Just figured your mum was always sick or something," she said with a laugh. "And don't worry," she added hastily, "I don't care. I didn't grow up with the prejudice."

**Thanks.** "He says thanks."

"I had my suspicions about Remus's lycanthropy—again, I don't mind it," said Lily, "—but I didn't even have a clue about the Animagi. Are you really?"

James smiled tiredly. "Yeah, we are. I'm Prongs—" he transformed into the magnificent stag and back as Lily and Aletha gaped— "and Peter is Wormtail, a rat." He, too, demonstrated, scuttling around for a minute before retransforming, and so missed the shared glance between the time-travelers and Danger at the description of his form. "Sirius, Padfoot, is a big black dog who is currently in very deep doggy doo in the doghouse." The others chuckled slightly. "You won't tell anyone, right? Because this could get us in very big trouble, you know."

Lily adopted her best Professor McGonagall impression. "Under one condition," she said crisply.

"What's that?" asked James, suddenly apprehensive.

**She's joking, I can smell it. This should be interesting.**

Lily just glared at him for maybe fifteen seconds, James gulping like a fish, until her stern expression suddenly cracked. "You teach us," she said with a grin.

James smiled too. "I guess it's the least we can do for you guys. We've done some pretty stupid things, you know." He ignored Aletha's "_Pretty_ stupid?" and went on to explain the particulars of Remus's transformation in the Shrieking Shack, and the passageway connecting it to the Whomping Willow. "There's a knot on the roots you can touch that freezes it," he said. "You can reach it with a long stick, or we use Wormtail. Until now, it worked." He paused, grimacing.

"Then Sirius told Snape how to get through the Willow."

Aletha let out a stream of colorful expletives. "I can't bloody believe him!" she screamed. "The damn IDIOT!"

Remus, too, cursed very loudly (mentally), causing Danger to wince. **That bloody IDIOT! What was he playing at, anyway?**

"I found out, ran to the Willow with a bit of help from Prongs, and managed to get to Snape before he got more than halfway down the tunnel." He paused. "Unfortunately, the git didn't believe me, and _continued_ to run straight towards the Shack. And considering our track record," he said ruefully, shaking his head, "I can't say I blame him. I guess I'm starting to realize our attitude really has been having unintended consequences—consequences that could get someone killed."

Lily's eyes were wide, and she was smiling. "I'm impressed, James." It was the first time any of them had heard her say his first name.

James beamed at that. "Thanks," he said earnestly. "Anyway, I didn't get Snape to believe me until he saw Moony trying to squeeze himself through the entrance to the Shack, and by then it was almost too late . . . wolves are a _lot_ faster than humans, and the small tunnel suited Moony better than me for size.

"Snape bolted. I kept conjuring stuff behind me to keep the wolf busy as I ran. Snape got out fine, I think, but I would've been werewolf food if someone hadn't frozen the Willow—"

"That was me," said Danger. "Under an Invisibility Cloak. And Snape was unhurt, as far as I could tell, but he was running really, really fast, so I didn't get a good look."

"Again, thanks," said James a bit meekly. The change in the formerly cocky and arrogant boy was astonishing. "That's it from me. How did you know to be there, anyway, Danger?"

"Oh, must've forgotten to mention I have prophetic dreams sometimes," she said innocently. That drew a few more laughs, but all fell silent as Danger explained her side of the story—it was just too amazing.

"And this will work every month?" asked Ron. "Forever?"

Danger frowned in thought. "I think so, at least as long as I'm around this guy." She patted Remus a bit forcefully on the head. "I don't know how I know it—I just do."

"Well, I guess that's it," said Ginny pensively. Her eyes lit up. "I know Moony and Danger will probably want to stay down here—is there any reason we all couldn't, at least tonight? I kind of like it down here, and it might do Moony good to have some company."

**I don't mind, I guess.**

**Who knows,** responded Danger, **you might even like it.** "Fine by me," Danger she said aloud with a smile. "And I doubt the professors would notice, if we go back up early." The other eight thought it a good idea as well, so Harry asked the room for "a place for us all to sleep."

Moony yipped as his chair disappeared, and landed on the ground—the now _padded_ ground. **Almost as comfortable as a mattress, nice for a wolf. I like it.**

"Well, I guess that's one way to do it," Ginny laughed. "Night, everyone."

Over the next few minutes, eight people lay down and fell asleep. Only Danger and Moony remained awake, contemplative.

**This officially qualifies as the best night of my life. You. The lack of secrets. Not to mention your ability.**

**I thought you'd be most enthusiastic about that last one,** Danger replied with a mental sarcastic smirk.

**Are you kidding?** Remus was indignant. **It's _you,_ Danger. You are officially the most amazing person I have ever met. Your ability is very nice, very convenient, definitely—it makes things much easier for me. But it's not why I love you,** he finished sincerely. It was a testament to the strength of their bond that those last three words already felt natural to say.

**Even without my magic, you know, I wouldn't back away from you.**

**Which is exactly why you're such a remarkable person. You do realize I could probably count the number of people in the whole school who would be willing to get romantically involved with a werewolf on one paw?**

She was silent for a moment. **You had the same dream as I did, right?**

**Yeah, I did. I finally understand what you were talking about on the first day. Though I'll admit I _did_ think you a bit nutters at first . . .**

Danger administered the mental equivalent of a good-natured swat to the back of the head. A few more seconds' silence, and her mood turned serious. **I mean what I said, you know. While we were dancing.**

**So do I.**

**Do you think we're too young for this?** Danger suddenly asked, worried.

_Of course not,_ Remus wanted to respond instinctively, but he forced himself to consider the question seriously and impartially for a few seconds. Finally, he responded. **No,** he said carefully, **I don't. We've both had to grow up so much faster than we should've,** he said wistfully, thinking of his bite, of Danger's parents.

**And when something as wonderful as this comes along,** finished Danger, **you don't want to let it go.**

**Exactly.**

A minute's silence followed, though not an uncomfortable one; more like the silence of mutual contemplation. _Because that's what it is. Danger has turned my life around in a month,_ Remus thought, being careful to think 'quietly'. _And, to be honest, I can't ever see myself with anyone else._

_Love really is an amazing thing._

They finally drifted off to sleep, Danger's hand still around Remus's paw.

* * *

Lily Evans woke with a yawn.

Slowly, still half-asleep, she began to notice elements of her surroundings that seemed somehow out-of-place. _People snoring? Nobody in my dorm snores . . . and why am I still wearing my robes?_

She sat up and moved to sit on the edge of her bed—only to find that the edge wasn't there.

_What the—_

Lily opened her eyes—and everything came back to her. Last night, staying up late in the common room with the four time-travelers, Danger, Aletha, Sirius (looking distinctly fidgety), Peter . . . _What a motley group,_ she remembered thinking. And for some reason, they all had stayed awake as the other inhabitants of Gryffindor Tower went up, one by one, to bed. An unusual anxiety had pervaded the air.

Lily was pretty sure she had been on high alert ever since Danger came up to Harry, practically radiating anger, and asked for his Invisibility Cloak "to right a wrong." Harry complied, and when he asked why, Danger just said, "Sirius told Snape. Need to help James," before running off.

Harry had seemed to understand this, though Lily was sure she didn't. It was a rather tense two hours that followed; it was only about nine o'clock at night, so the common room wasn't completely deserted and nothing secret could be discussed. Hermione read _Hogwarts: A History._ Ron probably wound up playing a game of chess against every one of the others—and won all of them. Sirius looked at his hands, shuffled his feet nervously, and didn't talk to anyone; it was the strangest expression Lily had ever seen on the notoriously laid-back troublemaker.

By the time James had burst into the room, the nine friends were the only ones left. He had glared at Sirius more harshly than Lily thought him able, practically dragging him up to the sixth-year boys' dorms. Snatches of the ensuing argument could be heard quite clearly below. ". . . what you were _thinking_ . . . out of your mind . . . don't you _care_ about . . . _want_ Moony to be . . ." Again, all quite mystifying, though Harry was evidently rather glad James was so mad. _Probably something they remember from the future,_ Lily had figured.

And then James had come back down, looking much calmer. When asked, he would say nothing more than "Sirius did something incredibly stupid." The mood had calmed, and Lily had been about to head up to bed when the portrait hole opened to reveal Danger and a wolf's head.

She had just gaped at it, hardly daring to believe that _this_ was Remus—Remus in wolf form—and, if Danger was to be believed, he was _tame_ in that form, too, something widely thought impossible. Lily didn't have the problems accepting it that the others did, though. _Clearly, he's not attacking us, and he can definitely smell us by now—heck, he got all the way up to Gryffindor Tower, under a cloak even. He must be safe._

_Interesting how more and more of us are finding out about the Den. I think Harry and his friends are using it as a sort of indicator of trust—clearly, it was James, Aletha, and Peter's first time down there, whereas Danger looked like she already knew . . ._

The story James had told was difficult to swallow—_Animagi at fifteen?_—but upon some introspection, Lily realized it was the only explanation that fit the facts. _Impressive, that—it's supposed to be really, really hard magic._

Thus, her demand to learn. _Okay, so maybe I did ask in a bit of an underhanded way, but James has been breaking plenty of rules too. For a good reason. As is this._ She had been more than shocked at this other, _caring_ side of James that had surfaced tonight. _I never would have expected him to be the sort to do something like that for a friend, or to _risk his own life—_even downplaying that risk—in order to save that of an enemy . . ._

_Potter is actually a decent guy, and he seems to have grown up tonight, enough that he doesn't mind _showing _he's decent._

_Imagine that._

Lily was the first to wake up, but others soon followed: Remus and Danger (at the exact same time), Hermione, James, Ginny, Harry, . . . Pretty soon, they all were up, although Ron had to be prodded (by Hermione) under his nose with a piece of bacon sent by the house-elves.

"Good morning," said Danger cheerfully.

"And that would be the first time I've _ever_ said that night after a full moon." Remus grinned. "Thanks for staying down here with me, everyone." He looked a bit uncomfortable.

_Understandable; his lycanthropy must be an extremely private thing for him._ Lily could tell, though, that Remus _had_ enjoyed the company. He just was uncomfortable asking for it.

"Why don't we make this a tradition?" suggested Danger. "Full moon nights, the ten of us, down here. I kind of like that idea."

Remus glared at her. His blue eyes swirled with brown, Danger's brown ones with blue . . . _What's up with that? They look like they're talking to someone . . ._

Finally, Remus relented. "OK, I guess I'm good for it," he said. "It's just weird. For ten years, I've forced myself to fear, against the instincts of the wolf, being around people under the full moon. That's not the kind of thing you just snap out of in one night."

Lily decided to speak up. "Danger's gift is an incredible benefit to you, Remus. You should make the most of it."

"I guess." He smiled shyly. "Anyone else?"

"I like it," said Harry. "A lot. It'd be good for Remus, and I think it would be good for us, too, to have a time to just—relax, I guess. Where it's just us. Away from the war."

His three time-traveling friends agreed with that sentiment.

"I'll be here for Remus," said James solemnly. "I have been, every full moon, for a year, I'm not going to stop now. And as much as I'd like to keep that within the Marauders, I think you guys have earned your place alongside us. We really have been idiots lately."

_And, for the second time in twelve hours, those words fly from his mouth. I'm impressed._

"Same for me," Peter chirped. "But isn't Moony going to get a bit restless indoors? Wolves like to run, you know."

Harry pointed at one of the green doors. "Indoor Quidditch pitch. Use to your heart's content."

James's eyes lit up. "Really?" he asked excitedly.

_Men and Quidditch, I swear._

"I'm in," offered Aletha. "I may not have intended to get involved with this, but now that I am, don't think I'm just going to walk away from you guys. I'm here for good," she said sincerely.

"Well, that's everyone. Thanks, guys," said Remus, shaking his head in disbelief. "I never expected to have so many people who care about me. Ever."

"You give yourself too little credit," said Lily softly. "Good people usually don't befriend gits."

Remus blushed a bit. "Again, well, thanks. And I guess we should go back up now." He made as if to stand up, then turned crimson as he realized he wasn't wearing anything under the blanket he had on. "Err—"

James chuckled. "I'll get you your robes, Moony," he said with a grin. "How do you get out of here, anyway?"

It was Harry who answered. "Go to the Gryffindor bedroom, jump on the bed three times, say, 'Thank you, Godric.' And hope nobody's in the common room to see you." He looked at his watch out of habit. "Damn," he muttered, "keep forgetting the stupid thing hasn't been working right since the Second Task . . . Anyone got a watch?" he asked more loudly.

"I do," said Lily. She looked at it and grimaced. "Seven forty-five A.M."

Ron cursed. "We're never going to get through the common room unnoticed at this hour. Everyone's up, and breakfast doesn't start for another fifteen minutes, so the common room is full. We're stuck here until classes start, and then we'll be late."

Hermione frowned, pondering this for a moment. "Hmm . . ." Suddenly, her eyes lit up and she bolted to the other green door, the one opposite the Gryffindor bedroom. She opened it. "Alex?" she called. "Is there any way to get back up unnoticed?"

"Yes," came a reply.

"The portrait," muttered Harry. "Alex's portrait . . . he knows _everything_ about this place . . . I should've guessed."

"Can you tell us _how?_" asked Hermione.

"Yes."

_Guess he has a sense of humor . . . refreshing, that._

"_Will_ you tell us?"

"Yes."

Hermione clutched at her hair. "Argh! Okay, let's try this again. How does one get out of here unnoticed?"

"That's better," laughed Alex. "Just say 'stealth mode' before you say the password."

"Thanks for the prompt and helpful response," said Hermione sarcastically. She walked back into the main room. "Well, you heard what Alex said. Sometimes I think he _enjoys_ playing with our heads . . ."

"You have no idea," said a muffled voice from the Slytherin bedroom.

"And did I mention he hears _everything?_"

* * *

Ten people suddenly appeared in front of the Gryffindor common room fireplace. Nobody was watching them—the fireplace was _so_ uninteresting at this time—but if anyone had been, they wouldn't have thought twice about the incident.

"That worked great!" exclaimed Harry quietly as he noticed the lack of excitement their arrival had generated.

James wasn't smiling, though. He was glaring straight at Sirius Black, who was unusually subdued this morning. "Marauders. Dormitory. Now," he hissed.

The four boys ascended the stairs in silence.

"Where did you guys go last night?" asked Sirius as he plopped down on his bed.

"None of your goddamn business," snarled James. "Why did you do it, Sirius? _Why?_"

Evidently Sirius was taken aback by the change in his usually easy-going friend. Normally, it was _Sirius_ that had the temper issues, _Sirius_ that got mad at the drop of a hat. Not James. _Good,_ he thought savagely, _let him squirm a bit. He deserves it._

"Prongs, I—"

"What, Sirius?" James cut him off. "You're _sorry?_ Do you think _sorry_ would have saved Snape's life? Were you _trying_ to kill him?" He was yelling quite loudly by now.

Sirius sighed. "No, James, I wasn't trying to kill him. I just wanted to scare the greasy git a bit—"

"AT WHAT PRICE?" roared Remus suddenly. "My LIFE? Do you understand, _Sirius,_ what would have happened if James hadn't intervened?"

"Well, no, I—"

"I would have bitten him," said Remus more coldly than James had ever heard him. Every word seemed encased in shards of ice. "I might have _killed_ him." He seemed to be keeping calm with difficulty. "And what then?" No one answered. "Oh, yes, they would have—what's the expression?—_put me down._"

By now, Sirius had his head in his hands; Remus's icy calm was far worse than any shouting he could have done. "I'm sorry, Moony," he moaned. "I didn't think."

"That's right," said Remus, still in his coldest tones. "You didn't think. And because of that, Sirius Black, you have betrayed my trust. Good luck repairing it." He walked out of the dorm room stiffly.

Silence pervaded.

"Moony's right, you know," said James seriously a minute later.

"What, does _everyone_ hate me now?" asked Sirius testily.

James took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to remain calm. _I don't want to lose him as a friend,_ he reminded himself. _No matter how much of a bloody idiot he was, he'll learn._ "We don't hate you, Sirius," he said. "We're just very, very upset with the decision you made. Remus more than me, to be honest—you didn't even think of the impact it would have on _him._ How do you think he would like it if he wound up biting Snape? Do you think he could ever live with himself?"

Sirius remained silent.

"Merlin, Padfoot, we've _all_ done stupid things sometimes. We learn from them. I really hope you learn from this. I learned from it too."

"How?"

"I caught Snape before he could get down the tunnel very far. I should've been able to get him out of there without any risk to either of us. But _he didn't believe me._ Thought I was just trying to make him look even more stupid. Thought we had set this whole thing up."

Sirius actually snorted. "Why should he believe any of us? We're practically sworn enemies."

James was not amused. "That's exactly my point, Sirius," he said heavily. "We've made such a reputation for ourselves of being silly troublemakers. That's not all we are, but it's all people _see_ us as. And today, I realized that reputation could have gotten someone _killed._"

"It didn't, though, did it?"

"It almost did. _I_ almost died. Did you want _that,_ Sirius?"

He looked apalled. "Of course not!"

James shook his head. "I know, but that's what could have happened. This was an absolutely, terminally, utterly stupid thing for you to do. _Learn from it._" He sighed dramatically. "I do believe it is time for the remaining two silly Marauders to grow up."

Sirius managed to crack a grin. "Perhaps."

He was reminded of a question once posed to a mutilated ghost. _Why on Earth did you douse yourself in steak sauce and run unarmed into the dragon's cave?_

And the mournful reply: _Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time . . ._

* * *

The day was Saturday, and Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration, was currently enjoying a rare day off. She had stayed up late last night finishing the grading of a veritable ream of students' papers, and was now reaping the fruit of her labors: a glass of fine wine, the latest issue of _Transfiguration Today,_ her feet up on her desk, and a firmly locked and Silenced office door.

Until, that is, Armando Dippet burst into his frame in her office, brandishing what seemed to be an invisibile slip of paper. "Dumbledore wishes to see you, James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Gertrude Granger immediately in his office," he said excitedly.

Sighing a bit, McGonagall put away her magazine and her wine and walked briskly out of her office. One did not refuse the Headmaster of Hogwarts, after all, even on one's rare day off. Especially in the presence of a word like "immediately." It was not one Albus Dumbledore used lightly.

She changed to her feline form—it was amazing how few students recognized the cat, even after seeing it on their first day of class—and sniffed out the four students mentioned in Dumbledore's message. Remus and Danger could be found (sure enough) in the library, studying together. James and Sirius were in the Gryffindor common room. Soon, all four of them were walking silenty behind her past the gargoyle ("Tootsie Pop!") and up the stairs to the Headmaster's office . . .

"Come in, Minerva."

_And I doubt I'll ever discover how he does that._

The five entered the Headmaster's office, sitting in chairs he conjured for them. Severus Snape was already there. _I wonder what the boys have done now. Hopefully nothing terrible . . ._

"Thank you for bringing them, Minerva." He addressed the four Gryffindors. "I have brought you here to address the events of last night. This is a serious matter indeed. Remus, are you comfortable with Mr. Potter and Miss Granger being present for this conversation? It involves certain secrets you guard closely. Mr. Black and Severus already know."

"They can stay, sir," he said immediately. "They know as well."

"Excellent." He steepled his fingertips. "Now, Severus has told me a most interesting account of last night's events. He states that you, Mr. Black, told him how to pass the Whomping Willow. Is this true?"

Sirius shot a glance at Snape, then looked at his feet. "Yes, sir, it is."

Years of practice hiding her emotions allowed McGonagall to school her expression into one of simple sternness, but her lips were pressed into a barely visible line, and internally she was furious. _Why in Merlin's name did he do that? Doesn't he understand?_

"How did you find out this information?"

"We—that is, James, Peter, and I—started looking for an explanation for Remus's disappearances during second year. We weren't satisfied that he actually was always going to visit his mother. Ultimately, we tracked his absences, wound up comparing them to the lunar calendar, and came to the obvious conclusion. We confronted him about it, and he told us the truth, but no specifics. As for the Willow . . . well, we followed him one day under James's Invisibility Cloak."

Evidently, Dumbledore had wondered the same thing McGonagall had. "And, Mr. Black, you know full well what is kept past the Willow during the time of the full moon—for instance, last night—correct?"

This time, Sirius managed to meet Dumbledore's gaze briefly before looking away. "Yes, sir."

"What ever possessed you to do such a thing?"

Sirius fidgeted nervously. "I didn't think," he mumbled.

"That," said Dumbledore crisply, "is painfully apparent." He was silent for a few moments. "Mr. Black, let it be known that I am highly disappointed in your actions. It is only through sheer luck, and the good conscience and admittedly rather heroic actions of Mr. Potter, that one or two more people are not, today, werewolves—or dead—as a result. I implore you, in the future— _think._" He paused again. "Minerva, I will leave the disposition of punishment to you."

Sirius gulped audibly. Snape smirked. McGonagall's lips pressed together even tighter.

Dumbledore spoke once again, this time a bit more calmly. "The five of you plus Mr. Pettigrew are the only students who I believe have discovered the truth of Remus's condition. This is five more than I ever intended. Now, I must ask you not to allow it to spread any further. Remus may tell anyone he wishes—it is, after all, his secret to tell. However, I must require that none of the rest of you disseminate it." The twinkle in his eyes was rather subdued. "Events like this would seem to tend to result."

"But sir," said Snape heatedly, "there's a _werewolf_ at school! You can't keep endangering the students like that! Last night only proves he needs to be expelled! And all of the 'Marauders', for sneaking around!"

He became the new recipient of Dumbledore's stern gaze. "Severus, last night, no one would have been in danger if Mr. Black had not revealed that which he should not have, or if you had adhered to the dictum I have emphasized at every Opening Feast since Remus's arrival: stay away from the Whomping Willow. Your prejudices are unfounded; please do not allow them to color your actions."

Snape fell into a sullen silence.

"And now, your word?"

"I won't tell," he said resentfully.

"I won't tell about Remus," said James solemnly.

"I promise not to let Remus's lycanthropy become known," said Danger calmly.

"I won't tell," said Sirius miserably.

"Thank you. Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, you may leave with Professor McGonagall. Severus, you are free to go. Remus, Miss Granger, please remain here."

The two people Dumbledore had named walked in silence behind Professor McGonagall to her office. She ushered them inside with a scathing frown and shut the door.

_I simply cannot believe them . . ._

"Mr. Black," she said coldly, barely containing her fury, "I have never been so disappointed with a Gryffindor in my life. Your actions were unforgivably, terminally stupid." She closed her eyes briefly in contemplation and sighed. "One hundred points from Gryffindor, and detention every Saturday for the rest of term. Please leave my sight."

Sirius walked away with shuffling footsteps.

McGonagall's expression lost its ferocity as she turned to the other student there. "On the other hand, Mr. Potter, your actions exemplified the sort of bravery for which Gryffindor House is known, the sort I rarely see in its students. Forty points to Gryffindor for your actions, and please do try to ensure that they are not needed in the future."

"Thank you, Professor," he said softly as he, too, left.

Once both students were safely out of sight, McGonagall layered her door once again with Silencing and Locking Charms and collapsed into her chair.

_It seems eventful days strike when we least hope for them._

_I can only hope those Marauders learn from their mistakes . . ._

* * *

After McGonagall left Dumbledore's office, the wise Headmaster turned to Remus. "Last night," he said lightly, "I found myself fancying a late-night stroll through the corridors. Would you care to guess what I saw?" Those blue eyes were finally back on high twinkle.

"Why don't you just tell us, Professor?" asked Danger a bit testily. She wasn't very familiar with the Headmaster's rather eccentric manner of interrogation.

"As you wish, Miss Granger. I saw two figures under two Invisibility Cloaks. One was a human. The other was not."

Remus gulped slightly.

"Could either of you shed some light on how and why a werewolf was wandering the halls of Hogwarts?"

Remus swallowed and opened his mouth, but Danger cut in before he could say anything. "With all due respect, Professor, Moony wasn't _wandering_ anywhere. He was walking straight to Gryffindor Tower."

Dumbledore looked at her sharply. "Miss Granger, you know as well as I that werewolves are not reasoning creatures under the full moon. What you suggest is, if not impossible, highly unlikely."

"Oh, but this one is," she responded, grinning widely.

"And would you like to elaborate?"

_At least he doesn't jump to conclusions._

"It's a power of mine that I discovered last night," Danger explained. "For lack of a better word, I'm a werewolf tamer—but only for Remus, I'm pretty sure. Physical contact after the transformation restores his human mind; physical contact throughout it prevents him from losing it in the first place. His transformation becomes like a forced Animagus, to the detail that he is still clothed after the moon sets."

"Intriguing, indeed," the old wizard said sagely, but Danger thought she saw a smile under his huge white beard . . . "I shall have to inform Madam Pomfrey; she has been harassing me with her worries ever since she went to the Shack and found you, Remus, not in it. I do wonder how the connection was formed . . . some sort of latent magical specificity increase, perhaps?"

"Er— Professor?"

"Ah, I apologize for the digression. Thank you for sharing this with me, Miss Granger. You and Remus are free to go."

They did so.

Dumbledore sat back in his chair and pondered the day's events.

_Even with all my knowledge, there is much I do not understand._

_Intriguing, indeed, that the majority of it seems to be centered around these two . . ._

* * *

Lily walked through the library, books in hand. _Ah, to find a quiet place to work on a Saturday . . . it's harder than it should be, honestly._

Sadly, all the tables were occupied. Lily was about to turn and leave, maybe work outside, when she spotted a familiar mop of messy black hair.

_Let's see how much he's really changed . . ._

"What's this?" she asked sarcastically. "James Potter doing _homework?_ The world is at an end!"

Lily expected him to make some sort of indignant retort, maybe even try to curse her. Instead, he just looked at her sadly, almost wistfully, and asked, "Why do you hate me so much, Evans?"

She sighed and shook her head. "James—and by the way, there's nothing wrong with my first name—I don't hate you. Never have, in fact. I hated what you _did._ I—" She suddenly became conscious of someone's eyes upon her. Looking up, she saw Madam Pince looking distinctly the part of a vulture.

"Let's continue this conversation outside," she said. "Madam Pince is giving me one of her patented death glares."

"Okay, Lily." _Good, at least he learns fast._ James gathered his things and walked out of the library behind her.

"I have one question," he said once they were out of Pince's earshot.

"Ask away."

"If you don't hate me, where did _this_ come from?" He put on a high falsetto. "'I'm surprised your broom can even get off the ground with that big head on it. You make me SICK!'"

Lily laughed. "Oh, that. Like I said, I hated what you were _doing!_"

"What do you mean?"

She swatted him gently on the back of the head. "James, you know very well what I mean. Until very recently, you were just about the world's biggest prat."

He sighed. "I guess you have a point. And I'm not anymore?"

"No, I think the fact that you didn't curse me twelve ways to Sunday when I told you the truth speaks for something," she responded with a laugh.

A few seconds' silence ensued, until James broke it. "Listen, Lily . . . I know I've been, as you so eloquently put it, the 'world's biggest prat' for a really long time. To you, to Snape, to the younger kids, to everyone. I think I realized that last night. After everything that happened, things I would have agonized over a few days ago just seemed so—trivial, I guess. We're at war. People are going to _die._ And there are a lot of things that _really_ matter that I should be worrying about, not the weekly prank on Snape."

He took a deep breath and continued. "I guess what I'm trying to say is . . . I'm sorry, Lily. For how I've acted in the past. And I know you have absolutely no reason to forgive me, but still, if you could—"

Lily smiled. "I always knew there was a decent person hiding behind the arrogant prat," she said quietly. "This just proves it. And, for your information, _that_ is what I hated—that you would try to be 'interesting' and wind up not being _good_ because of it. You've changed, James. I forgive you."

James grinned fully for the first time since Lily had approached him. "Thanks, Lily," he said sincerely. "And if I promise not to ask you out every day, not to make a fool of myself—do you think we could spend more time together, like this, as friends?"

"I'd like that. And you don't have to be Mr. Perfect, you know. A _bit_ of jokingness is rather endearing; just don't overdo it."

James frowned in mock contemplation. "Hmm, I think I might be able to manage that . . ."

The two teenagers burst out laughing.

_Together._

* * *

(A/N: Sorry for the delay on this one, folks. There's this thing called "school" that's sapped most of my time lately . . . Updates will be once a week, at most, from now on.

Danger's werewolf taming power belongs to Anne Walsh / whydoyouneedtoknow. The wedding scene is based on Chapter 4 of "Living with Danger," by her.

And no, I don't plan to have each chapter longer than the last forever. They won't get much longer than this.

Next chapter: "Getting Closer," which takes us through the holidays . . . I'm reasonably sure it'll have at least one thing will surprise you.

Appreciate! Criticize! Suggest! I don't care what you do, just **REVIEW!**)


	7. Getting Closer

**Chapter 7: Getting Closer**.

The next few days were absolute hell for Sirius Black. Remus refused to initiate conversation with him, look him in the eye, or even be in the same room with him for extended periods of time. Even after Sirius apologized, quite sincerely, all Remus would say was, "It's not me you need to be apologizing to." And he still said it without meeting Sirius's gaze.

Aletha Freeman, with whom he had nurtured a good-natured bicker-filled friendship ever since their dual third year appointment as Beaters on the Quidditch team, was even worse. She alternated between glaring fiercely at him and ignoring his presence completely. Oddly enough, this stung even more than Remus's attitude.

The rest of the group that knew the truth treated him similarly, but less severely. Harry, though, seemed almost remorseful, as if Sirius wasn't living up to expectations. And beneath that, an undercurrent of . . . well, Sirius couldn't put his finger on it, but it was vaguely disconcerting, almost as if Harry _knew_ him, could see right through him . . .

No one in the rest of Gryffindor house knew the particulars of what had happened, but they all picked up on the animosity exuded by the ones who did, and they followed suit. For the first time in several years at Hogwarts, Sirius Black was _not_ followed by a gaggle of giggling girls. And this was just one manifestation of the sickening truth:

He was cut off. From everyone.

_Without my friendships,_ he realized, _life gets pretty bad around here . . ._

Profoundly enough, it was the first time Sirius had ever thought about it that way.

* * *

Remus stared at Harry curiously as he looked up from the homework he was doing in the common room. **Harry is reacting the most weirdly of any of us to Sirius,** he remarked mentally. **And I can practically smell the disappointment coming off him, but not really any anger . . .** The mental connection between him and Danger had not disappeared as the moon rose—indeed, it had strengthened, and they each now lived always with a bit of themselves in the other's mind. _And I _know _this isn't usual. But what's usual about anything I do? Not to mention I like it._ Remus was sure, though, that if it was anyone other than Danger, he would resent the constant presence.

Danger's reply to his query was simple—just **I wonder why?**—but their odd connection involved more context than speech, the sort of emotional elements that were impossible to mask and could indicat a lie from a mile off, and so Remus could tell that Danger _knew_ why Harry was acting so oddly. He caught the edge of a quiet thought—something about _of course he is,_ and a connection (he couldn't tell what) between Harry and Sirius—before Danger masked it . . .

**What's going on here?** he asked suspiciously.

**Nothing, love.** Danger tried to be placating in her mental tone, and failed miserably.

**This connection isn't just speech, you know. I can tell your basic emotions, and I can tell you _do_ know what's up with Harry.**

Danger paused contemplatively for a second. **I do,** she said finally. **But Harry told me in confidence, and I don't want to betray his trust. Can't you understand that?** She seemed a bit testy.

**Of course I can understand. I have my own Big Secret. But still, I can tell this is something big. Our connection feels incredibly stilted whenever Harry comes up . . . it's uncomfortable for me.**

"Everything doesn't revolve around YOU, Remus!" Danger snapped out loud. Mentally, Remus winced as he felt an intangible door slam shut. Physically, he watched dejectedly as Danger snapped her book shut with a BANG and stalked up the stairs to her dormitory.

**Danger . . .** he tried to call, but no response was heard; Remus doubted she could even hear him. _Nice one, Moony,_ he berated himself sarcastically. _You just went and alienated the one person who loves you. Good job._

Saddened, Remus turned back to his reading, but his heart wasn't in it; he must have read the same sentence about the incantation to animate an object a hundred times without taking it in at all . . .

_I've got to talk to Danger,_ he decided. _This is impossible._

_She's had time to calm down; hopefully she's not still mad at me, it was such a small thing . . ._

**I'm sorry,** he said mentally, and was relieved to find their mental "door" open once again.

In fact, his voice was echoed by another saying the same thing.

**God, I really made a fool of myself, didn't I?** asked Remus rhetorically—just as Danger asked the same thing, in the same words even.

The double coincidence was too much, and inaudible laughter resonated across their bond.

**I'm sorry for being so pushy,** Remus said once they both had calmed down.

**It's fine,** Danger replied, and Remus was sure that if she was present, she would have waved a hand in dismissal. **And I'm sorry for overreacting. It's just been a lot to take in at once lately, I guess.**

**Do you regret this bond?** Remus asked, worried.

**No, not at all!** Danger's response was vehement. **I _love_ it. Just like I love you. _Never_ forget that. People do argue sometimes, you know.**

**As I just found out.**

**Well, yeah. Anyway, I can't tell you what's up with Harry, but he can. Ask him. He likes you more than the other Marauders, if you haven't noticed.**

**Will do.** A mental caress, and the connection dwindled a bit.

Remus stood up and walked over to the green-eyed boy. "Er, Harry?"

"Yeah, Remus?" he responded quietly, looking up from his textbook—_looks like something on advanced Defense_.

"I've noticed something's, well, _up_ with you," Remus said quietly. "I asked Danger, and she said she knows about it, but she wouldn't tell me. She thought I should ask you—so, here I am."

Harry stiffened at this, but relented soon thereafter. "What caused your suspicions?"

_Truth is more unbelievable than any lie, in this case._ "Ever since that night, Danger and I have shared a— well, I guess you could call it a sort of bond. We can communicate mentally, sense each other's emotions, stuff like that. I made a mental comment about your attitude towards Sirius. Danger dismissed it, but I could tell she was lying, so . . ."

The black-haired boy smiled. "Far be it from me to interfere with a soul bond," he said lightly. "I'm kind of trying to finish this right now, so I'll explain myself fully tonight in the Den." He leaned forward and whispered, "stealth mode, thank you, Godric; an hour from now," in Remus's ear. The werewolf nodded his understanding. "Danger can fill you in on the basics until then . . ." he paused, then grinned wickedly . . . "Professor Lupin."

**What's he talking about?**

**Short version: He's James and Lily's orphaned son from the future, born July 31, 1980. You were his third-year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.** As Remus heard this, he gaped, wide-eyed, at Harry.

"Danger told you, then?" Harry said with a chuckle.

"Y– yeah. How'd you know?"

"Apart from your gaping like a gormless idiot? Your eyes changed color for a moment."

**Interesting . . . So, can you tell me more about his life?**

**Of course. It's not pretty, you know,** Danger replied wistfully.

Mental conversation about the true Harry James Potter filled the next half an hour; by the time Harry got Remus alone in the Den to explain, there wasn't much left to talk about.

"So _that_'s why you act how you do around James and Sirius," Remus said after Harry finished his explanations. "You know how they turned out, you miss them, you love them but you can't let them know that, you're disappointed in them . . ."

"Exactly," said Harry with a sigh. "And let me tell you, it hasn't been easy. Lily knows—she figured it out herself, in fact. James doesn't, nor does anyone else except Danger. Please keep it that way."

"Of course."

Remus walked up to his dormitory, still trying to get his head around the fact that he had taught Harry the Patronus Charm at thirteen—when at sixteen, he himself couldn't manage anything more than some mist.

_Of course, I haven't tried it since I met Danger . . ._

* * *

Sirius, meanwhile, continued his lonely existence, completely oblivious to the change in Remus's attitude towards Harry. Again, one day, he tried to apologize.

"Remus, I—"

"Save it, Sirius," the latter mumbled. "Like I said, it's not _me_ you need to apologize to. Who did your little stunt almost kill again?" He walked off, not expecting an answer.

_Snape._

_Oh, Merlin, I have to apologize to Snape._

_This is not going to be pretty,_ he thought with a grimace.

_And yet . . ._ Sirius knew he would do it. Even if Snape made him get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness, he would. The prospect of humiliation in front of his worst enemy was jarring, certainly, but in the face of alienation it didn't seem all that bad.

_Because I value Moony's friendship just that much._

_Is this what James was talking about, how some things just seemed so petty to him now?_

And it was for that reason, seeking Snape, that Sirius Black entered the library for the first time all term.

He was easy enough to spot—the Marauders' appellation of "greasy-haired git" did have _some_ truth to it, after all—sitting at a table, going over potions notes with—

Sirius pinched himself to make sure he wasn't in some weird dream. _Lily Evans? James's Chosen One helps Snivellus with Potions homework?_

At this shocking revelation, a few thoughts warred for dominance in his head.

One: _Snape can't be _that _evil if Evans works with him._ That thought was silenced very quickly.

Two: _I should tell James about this. Maybe he'll stop mooning over her._ That, Sirius decided, wouldn't be a good idea either; he would likely decide Snape had somehow bewitched his 'precious Lily flower', and go back into an all-out crusade against the git. _And considering that's what got me here in the first place . . . bad idea._

In the end, Sirius decided to do nothing other than what he had planned. He walked up to their table.

"Sn– Severus, could I speak to you for a moment?"

Snape looked up from his Potions homework, highly annoyed, and sneered. "I'm listening, _Black_, even though I somehow doubt you have the mental capacity to say anything that won't get me killed. Speak."

"In private, I mean."

Snape let out a single, harsh bark of laughter. "You expect me to fall for that? You're even thicker than I thought, Black. You have nothing to say that would interest me, so I'm sure you can say it in front of everyone."

_Guess he's never heard of a Privacy Spell, then. However embarrassing this is . . ._ Sirius forced himself to remember why he was here. "Fine, Snape. I wanted to apologize to you for my actions on the seventh." Snape snorted; Sirius continued with an effort. "I didn't think—" (another snort, "Since when did you _ever_ think?"—) "about the consequences. I may hate you, but I don't want you dead."

Snape scoffed. "And I'm supposed to accept that? With your reputation? Since when have you _ever_ apologized to me?"

Sirius was rather peeved by now. _I see what James meant . . ._ "What would you have me do, then?"

"On your knees, Black."

He sighed and, with a great effort, unbent his pride enough to get down on one knee. "Please forgive me," he said evenly, staring at Snape.

"Both knees."

Sirius did as he was told. _I'm never going to live this down. Shouldn't've even _thought _it . . ._ "Severus Snape," he said formally, recalling the pureblood customs his mother had tried to drum into him just this past summer, "I beg your forgiveness for my hasty, ill-considered actions."

Snape raised an eyebrow. If Sirius didn't know him better, he would have thought him impressed beneath his scowl. "Good enough, Black," he spat.

"Thank you, Severus." Sirius stood up and rushed out of the library as quickly as he could, trying to ignore the numerous stares he was getting.

_I am never, _ever _doing _anything _to warrant that again._

* * *

The story of Sirius's rather publically humiliating apology spread like wildfire across the Hogwarts gossip network, and most of the Gryffindors who had scorned him espoused now a grudging respsect. He had lost most of his image as a 'bad boy,' though. "The Sirius Black I knew wouldn't have apologized like that," he heard one giggling girl say shrilly to another, a few weeks after the incident.

"Being famous—notorious, whatever—isn't all that fun, is it?" asked Harry, who was passing, with a wry grin.

"No," Sirius muttered darkly, "it isn't."

"People are so fickle. One day you're the hero of the world, the next you're a deluded attention-seeking psychopath." He winked. "I speak from experience, of course."

"Huh?"

"Oh, never mind. I'll just say this: never, ever, _ever_ get on the bad side of a reporter named Rita Skeeter . . . or conduct any important conversations in the presence of a beetle. She's an Animagus. Been bitten by that particular bug more than I care to say."

"I'll remember that." _And just who is this Harry Potter, to have been the subject of a reporter's attention? Especially when I'm sure nobody knows him from before this year?_

Harry sighed, looked around, and furtively cast a Privacy Spell. "Listen, Sirius, I think you've learned your lesson. On, er, 'Moony's night' next week, be in the common room after your last class." He cancelled the spell and walked off.

_And I think that makes everyone,_ Sirius realized happily. Lily had forgiven him the night of his apology; Ron, Hermione, and Ginny the next day, as it started to make the rounds of gossip. Peter had taken another day, and Remus two more than that. The latter conversation was rather memorable . . .

"_Padfoot, we need to talk," Remus said quietly as they both walked up to the dorms._

_Sirius sighed. "I'm so sorry, Moony," he said feelingly. "I don't know what to say to you. You're right, I did betray your trust. And I hate myself for that. I always treasured my friendship with you guys, especially because my family are such idiots, and now I've gone and done something stupid and it's not there anymore. I hate it, but I guess I deserve it."_

_Remus looked at him sharply. "Look at me, Sirius," he said. Sirius did so, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. "Listen. I've spent the last week thinking about this . . . incident. Ever since I was bitten, I've always believed I would be unable to have real friends. No real life, just sort of trudging along, trying to find work with the rare accepting employer, never with a girlfriend, never married, never befriended._

"_Then, in second year, you guys confronted me about my condition. And for the first time, I had friends—real friends, who understood who I was and didn't hate me for it, who, really, would do anything for me. It was an amazing feeling._

"_And then you went and told Snape. Part of me wants to believe, unrealistically, that you did it deliberately. That you were trying to hurt me. Because _that's how everyone else feels about werewolves. _Part of me wants to throw away this friendship, just pretend like the past five years didn't happen, because it wound up putting me at such risk." He paused for a long moment. "But, when it came right down to it, I couldn't do that. You guys are the three people who have stood by me when no one else did, and I can't just forget what you mean to me._

"_And, well, _everyone _makes mistakes. You, Sirius Black the Great, are no exception. Yours was an extremely _large _mistake, an extremely high-consequence, foolish, hurtful one—but it was still a mistake. I _know _you, and I know you wouldn't have done something like that on purpose._

"_So I guess what I'm trying to say is . . . against all odds, I forgive you, Padfoot. All I hope is that you've learned your lesson._

It had been, with absolute certainty, the best day of Sirius's life. It was a bittersweet memory, to be sure, tinged as it was with self-vilification for his actions . . . but it also echoed with the bonds of friendship that bound the Marauders together, and it marked what Sirius thought were some of the most important lessons he had learned.

Those thoughts stopped as another rose to the surface: _Since when do I act so grown-up?_ Sirius laughed mentally.

Aletha gave him a scathing glare as she walked by. _I think she's forgiven me too, to be honest. She just hasn't come right out and said it. That glare was positively tame for her._ The two had risen to a mere "normal" low-point in their tumultuous relationship, and Sirius was confident they would recover.

_In time._

* * *

The next full moon night was November 6. As promised, Sirius returned to the common room, along with James, Remus, Peter, and Lily, just after his last class (Transfiguration). Harry was there, and he smiled as he saw them. "Follow me, guys," he whispered. The six walked to the fireplace, and Harry cast a Privacy Spell around them.

"I'm going to say something to open the secret passageway," he said, mainly for Sirius's benefit. "You won't see it until you're in it. It's just to the right of the fireplace. Got it?"

Five nods answered him.

"Great." A wave of Harry's wand, and the foggy boundary of the Privacy Spell disappeared. "Stealth mode," he whispered, so quietly none of the Marauders except Remus heard it. "Thank you, Godric." He walked toward the invisible opening. "Wait at least twenty seconds between people coming down, unless you want to land on top of each other," he said with a wink—and disappeared.

With a bit of blind groping for the entrance, Sirius managed to find the large, well-concealed hole and make his way down it. _Wheeeee!_ Partway down, he transformed into Padfoot, and wound up landing on all four feet. Padfoot barked happily, barely looking around the lavish bedroom he had landed in as he followed the trail of Harry's scent out the door and into a room with a padded floor and no furniture . . .

_Huh?_ Padfoot retransformed and gave Harry a very puzzled glance. Harry ignored it. "Circle of eleven comfortable chairs, please," he said, and the room complied.

_This place is wicked!_

"Great, we're all here." Harry cleared his throat. "Be welcome, all, to this den-night," he said formally, then laughed. "In all seriousness, this place is officially called the Heart of Hogwarts, but we just call it the Den. Four bedrooms, a library, a kitchen (which the house-elves know about), a Quidditch pitch, and a bathroom." He pointed to each room as he mentioned it. "All of them lead somewhere in the castle; so far, though, the only ones we know are bedrooms to common rooms and kitchens to kitchens. To get out, you say a password: 'Thank you,' and the name of the Founder corresponding to the color of the room."

"And there's a portrait named Alex in the Slytherin bedroom," put in Hermione.

"Bloody annoying when you actually want to know anything," Ron muttered. "Speaks in so many riddles . . ."

"Well, it's more the fact that he's there, isn't it?" Hermione said, a bit shrilly.

Harry, who could sense another argument brewing, raised his voice slightly as he continued to explain. "_Anyway,_ feel free to do whatever you want. Have fun. Though I do seem to recall an offer by the Marauders . . ."

Sirius looked at James, who moved his hands in Marauder hand-sign. Teach them Animagus, he signed. Lily made us.

Sirius shook his head bemusedly. "All right, Evans, you win," he sighed. "I still don't know how you managed to 'make' James do anything, especially that, but hey . . ." He trailed off.

Lily cleared her throat. "I think you mentioned teaching us something?"

"Er, yeah," said James. "Anyway. Animagus. Basic overview. Okay: there's a pretty simple scrying spell to figure out your form—I think it's part of the seventh-year Transfiguration curriculum. After that, you have to figure out some pretty long spells to change each part of your body—arms, legs, torso, head. That takes a while, because they're highly dependent on the physiology of your animal, which means a lot of research." He grimaced. "Then you have to come up with your final incantation, which basically ties everything together. You can use a premade one or do your own, and I think they're supposed to have a bit about your personality in them as well. Finally, there's a potion you have to make—most finicky thing I've ever done—"

"I can probably do it," offered Lily.

James's eyes lit up. "Actually, you probably could," he said, relieved. "You're the best potioneer we have here, though I think Aletha comes close. Anyway, that potion basically puts you into a state so you can make the transformation without your wand the first time. After that, you need the incantation but not the potion, and you can gradually start shortening it until you're transforming quickly and silently. Like this." He made a simple sign to the other Marauders—fist closed, thumb sticking out between index and middle fingers. Transform. Suddenly, in place of James, Sirius, and Peter were the stag Prongs, Grim-like dog Padfoot, and grey rat Wormtail.

"Amazing," breathed Lily.

"Wicked," was Ron's opinion.

The Marauders transformed back into human shape with a small _pop_.

"Is there any danger of getting stuck in your form?" asked Hermione.

"Only if nobody knows it's you," said Sirius. "If you mess up your head incantation, you can become an animal without a human brain, so that you don't know to change back. The changing back is really easy—it's just _reditio ipse_—but someone has to know to do it on you."

"Sounds good," said Ginny excitedly. "Let's get started!"

James conjured a simple mirror with a wave of his wand. Remus explained its use. "Look into the mirror, point your wand at it, and say, _revelaro animalis_." He handed it to Hermione.

"Harry, Ron, and I have already done it in Transfiguration," she said. "Black wolf, red hawk, and I'm a cat."

Sirius gave a short bark of laughter. "Professor McGonagall in the making," he snickered.

"Oh, shush, you. Anyway, Ginny, want to try it?"

Ginny took the mirror without a word. "_Revelaro Animalis!_" She stared at it, completely motionless, for about five seconds, then blinked a few times and smiled. "I'm some sort of big red cat with pointy ears and a short little tail."

"Sounds like a lynx," said Hermione absently. She suddenly seemed to reconnect with the situation. "Ginny, that's great!"

The red-haired girl smiled even wider. "Thanks, Hermione. Anyway . . . Remus, you next?"

Remus looked at the mirror a bit suspiciously before taking it. "Do werewolves even have Animagus forms?"

"Only one way to find out," said James with an adventurous look on his face. "Try it."

Remus took a deep breath and pointed his wand at the mirror. "_Revelaro Animalis!_" Again, the five-second blank stare was followed by a few rapid blinks and a smile. "I'm a lion," he enthused. "Looks like the Gryffindor mascot."

Danger was next. "Grey wolf," she said after scrying for her form. "Just like Moony, but without the werewolf features."

Aletha found her form to be a winged horse. "Not a thestral, just a normal horse with wings . . ."

"Darn," muttered Harry. "Guess you might still have to ask for directions sometimes, then." He winked at her.

"Do Animagi actually work that way?" Hermione asked curiously. "That you get elements of animal form in human form?"

"A bit," said Sirius. "I can smell things pretty well as a human. Generally lets me know when people are lying—they give off different scents. I'm pretty sure you two wolves will be the same. The others, no idea. It's not documented in any of the books."

"Let's see about me, then," Lily said as she took the mirror. "_Revelaro Animalis!_"

She was a tiger, and oddly enough, she blushed a bit as she said it.

James looked properly abashed, but Sirius cracked up laughing. "I knew—" gasp— "there was something—" gasp— "to James calling you—" gasp— "Tiger Lily!" Several other members of the group laughed at that as well. Sirius didn't stop for a full minute.

"Now that we've gotten all that out of our system," Remus said mock-sternly, "why don't we continue? Moonrise is in just a few hours."

"All right," sighed James. "Step two. The part we hated."

He paused dramatically and waved his wand at the door to the library. A few seconds later, a small stack of books came through.

"Research."

Hermione and Danger's eyes lit up; Remus smiled slightly; Ron just groaned aloud. "Let's see," muttered Hermione as she looked at the book titled. "Feline—that'd be me, Remus, Ginny, and Lily. Canine is Harry and Danger." She tossed them the second book. "Equine would be Aletha." Another book flew through the air. "And avian is for Ron." The last, very heavy book hit him on the forehead.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"Just seeing if you were paying attention." Hermione smirked. "Quidditch reflexes and all that." She paused and turned to look at the Marauders. "All right, now what?"

"Now you look up spells for your forms. Write down anything that looks appealing. You need incantations for your arms, legs, torso, head, everything. Good luck." He winked and headed out the door to the Quidditch pitch, Sirius in tow.

Harry could hear barks and yips coming from the green door for nearly an hour.

Ron groaned as he turned yet another page. "Merlin, it shouldn't be _legal_ for words to have this many letters."

Hermione grinned benignly at him. "Oh, it's not nearly as bad as you say. Don't be such a hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobe."

Ron grimaced. "What the bloody hell is THAT?"

"One who fears long words," quipped Danger.

Aletha seemed to be trying valiantly, but in vain, to control her emotions. It was only a few seconds before she snorted and soon completely broke down laughing.

"Guess it could be worse," muttered Ron, a bit red around the ears as he returned to his reading.

* * *

As moonrise approached, Remus grew more and more nervous. He could acutely feel the pull of the moon just off the horizon . . .

Finally, three minutes before moonrise, the book on felines dropped from his hands and fell to the floor with a muffled _bump_. (Since there were four felines in the group, Hermione had managed to dredge up another copy of the book for Remus to read.) **Danger, I—**

"Come on, Moony," she whispered aloud, guiding Remus to the Gryffindor bedroom. **I know you don't want to be in front of everyone while you transform. Come on, love.** He followed tiredly.

Remus managed to stumble inside the red door before he collapsed on the bed. Danger shut the door gently and kneeled next to him, taking his hands and hers and waiting, stoically.

The moon rose. Animagus and werewolf bore the flashes of pain together, talking of everyday things for comfort, as Remus's body twisted and warped into the form of the wolf.

Finally, it was over. Moony gave a wolfish grin. **Thank you, Danger,** resounded his voice inside her mind; it sounded quite sincere.

**You're welcome,** she replied. **I understand that this is a very private thing for you, you know.**

**It is. But not from you. Never from you.**

Wolf and tamer returned side-by-side to the common room of the Den.

The remaining few hours of the day were spent in amicable relaxation. Ron had thought to bring his chess set, shrunk in his pocket, and he played a few games. Hermione read a bit as well. But best of all, upon suggestion by Ginny, everyone told stories.

_When it comes right down to it, we don't know each other all that well,_ Remus realized. The Marauders had quite a deep bond, but they had known the time-travellers for less than two months, and one of those had been spent in ignorant hatred. Lily and Aletha, too, were new to the group, and they continued to be amazed at some of the things the others took for granted—for instance, James's Invisibility Cloak.

So they told stories. True stories, of course, though Sirius's and Ron's were sometimes a bit embellished—but entertaining ones all the same. _Our lives are anything but normal._ Remus noticed how Harry told as much as he could, going into quite a bit of detail about how he had, for instance, helped someone smuggle out a dragon—without mentioning that it was Hagrid who had owned the beast. He talked mostly of mundane things, funny things, the pranks more than the life-altering experiences.

_But that's only because there's no way he could mention them without mentioning the future. Which I'm sure he will. Eventually._

The Marauders, in turn, shared some of their own stories; Ron in particular was struck dumb by the preparation and flawless execution that went into many of their escapades. "Fred and George could stand to learn a thing or three from you guys," he said at one point.

"Who're Fred and George?" Sirius asked.

"My prankster brothers." And, of course, this prompted another round of stories about the time when Fred had put a shrinking charm on Percy's underwear . . .

Finally, though, the store of stories was exhausted, the eyelids half-closed. Ginny closed the den-night, again in the formal voice that had become, somehow, not quite such a joke anymore. _I think we all realize we're involved in something bigger and more important than ourselves, here . . ._ "I bid you good night and fair dreams," she said. "May this night rest us all, and we rise in the morning stronger for it." She smiled widely. "Good night, everyone."

Various mutterings of "Good night" were heard in reply as the members of what would become the Pack drifted peacefully off to sleep.

* * *

Sirius sighed and looked around the common room, trunk in hand. "Well, this is it," he said heavily. "Christmas break, and then only five more terms to prank the Slytherins before we're gone for good."

"Cheer up, mate," said James. "You _are_ coming home with me, you know. Not to mention five terms is quite a while."

Sirius cracked a wide grin at that knowledge being brought back to the surface. "I know. Your folks have really been good to me. Completely unlike my parents; it's been kind of unreal, sometimes . . ." In truth, his sobriety had hardly anything to do with what he said; Sirius had just been a bit subdued ever since the incident with Snape and Remus. The forgiveness of his friends had meant quite a lot to him, and he still played more than his fair share of pranks—and got more than his fair share of detentions for them—but he couldn't seem to get rid of the niggling voice in the back of his mind that kept saying, _you almost killed Snape . . ._

Despite what some might say, Sirius Black did indeed have a conscience, and his brush with disaster had helped him to realize just how hurtful some of the Marauders' escapades had been. In fact, not one of his pranks in the past month and a half had specifically targeted Severus Snape.

For those who knew him, this was nothing short of a miracle.

_The unthinkable has happened! Sirius Black is growing up!_

_I guess this was bound to happen eventually._

Smiling a bit more sincerely, Sirius followed the other three Marauders out to the "horseless" carriages and down to the train.

To his surprise, Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and Danger were waiting for them.

"We couldn't let you go home without saying goodbye, could we?" asked Danger with a smile.

Remus blushed a bit. "No, I guess not. I'll ask my parents if you can come over during the holidays; I would've invited you, but our house is pretty small and it might've gotten a bit cramped . . ."

"No worries, Remus. Until I see you again." She smiled and kissed him.

Remus hugged her tightly. "I love you, Danger," he whispered. "Stay safe."

"I love you too, and don't worry, I will." **Besides, we still have this, right?**

**Indeed we do.** "See you on the fourth, if not before!"

The train whistled warningly. "And that's our cue," said James. "Bye, guys!" he shouted as he rushed for the door of the train.

The five remaining on the platform waved at the departing engine, and the four Marauders inside it, as the Hogwarts Express made its way over the horizon.

* * *

The next few days passed rather like the time before September first for the five Gryffindor friends remaining at Hogwarts. Hermione researched the Founders; Ron played chess, Exploding Snap, and generally had fun; Harry practiced his spellcasting in the Room of Requirement and studied advanced Defense for the D.A. He planned to start them on Patronuses after the holidays; most of the members (including, since late October, James and Sirius, who had worked as diligently as anyone) had been quite excited to hear this.

There were only a few other students staying at Hogwarts, and none of them were Gryffindors; with the war in full swing, most parents wanted their children where they could keep an eye on them. This suited the five just fine; they wound up spending nights in the Den together, working some on their Animagus transformation spells (Hermione had managed both arms and legs, Harry just the arms) or exploring the Den . . .

Until, three days after Remus left, Danger woke up with a rash on her face and a blistering fever.

Hermione was the first in the Den to notice. Danger groaned as she tried to sit up. ". . .mione . . . I . . . Remus . . ." she mumbled feebly; it seemed to be taking all her effort just to say those few words.

"Danger, what's wrong?" Hermione asked shrilly, worriedly. Her father's wedding ring—the ring Danger had given her—was burning on its chain against her chest.

". . . hot . . . cold . . . can't move . . ."

"We have to get you to Madam Pomfrey!" Hermione shrilled. "Harry! Ron! Ginny! WAKE UP!"

"Wh't is't?" Ron mumbled.

"Danger is really, really sick!" Hermione was almost hyperventillating now.

The three woke up in a flash. "Calm down, Hermione," placated Ron, giving her a hug. "It'll be okay. You'll see."

Ginny went over to feel Danger's forehead. "She's burning up!"

"Really bad fever, feels like," said Harry. "Muggles get those sometimes, but I've never heard of one on a witch. Library's exit goes to the Hospital Wing. Let's carry her there."

"What's a fever?" Danger muttered. "Some kind of animal or something?"

It was only with a very sincere effort that Ron and Ginny reined in their laughter. "She's delirious," Hermione explained quietly as she continued to wring her hands anxiously, hoping not to elicit another strange reaction. "She doesn't know what she's saying."

Harry, Ron, and Ginny picked up the feverish girl—Ron almost dropped his hold as he realized how high her temperature was—and walked as quickly as they could to the exit from the library, concealed behind a bookshelf. At least Hermione had the presence of mind to open the door.

"Thank you, Rowena," Harry breathed as they reached the right spot. His heart sank as the opening was revealed. It was large enough for _one_ person—and that person had to be conscious enough to jump. He set Danger down and told Ron and Hermione to do the same. "There's not enough room for one of us to carry her, and she has to be able to jump to go up . . . I don't know what to do."

"Danger?" asked Ginny quietly. "Can you walk in there and jump?"

"Don't wanna," she muttered. "Hate bicycle pumps."

"I think we need another solution here," Ron noted. He would have been laughing uproariously had the situation not been so worrisome.

Harry ran a hand through his hair nervously. He thought for a few seconds, twirling his wand anxiously with the other hand. The simple, repetetive action made him wonder what Moody would say about 'elementary wand safety' if he saw it . . . Moody . . . Defense Against the Dark Arts . . . the—

"I've got it," he said, unsmiling. "Act now. Talk later." He pointed his wand at Danger, who didn't even seem to register the stick of wood now pointing in her direction, and concentrated hard. "_Imperio!_"

The other three stared silently, open-mouthed, as Harry supported a glassy-eyed Danger to stand, step inside the passageway, and jump very slighly. She was whisked away by the magic of the Den.

Harry smiled very slightly. "Success," he said, tiredness creeping into his voice. "Come on, everyone, let's go up."

Four people, four jumps, and all of them were once again standing around a prostrate, feverish Danger—but this time in a place where she could be helped. Harry ended the Imperius as soon as he saw that Danger had arrived safely in the hospital wing. Hermione caught her as she sagged to the ground.

"Madam Pomfrey!" shrieked Hermione. "Come quickly!"

The aforementioned matron burst out the door of her office, skidding to a stop as she surveyed the scene before her. "My goodness, what has happened here?"

"Danger has a really high fever," said Harry with more than a bit of worry in his voice. "We don't know what's wrong with her?"

"And how did you get her here? The doors are locked." Seeing their apprehensive faces, she quickly added, "Oh, it doesn't matter for now. Let's get her checked out." A wave of Madam Pomfrey's wand, and Danger floated onto one of the sterile white hospital beds. The matron cast a spell on her, and Danger's body glowed with various colors.

"Health Diagnostic Charm, I think," Hermione explained. "I've read something about them."

Danger's whole body glowed red, with pockets of magenta around her joints and small dots of it placed variously on her skin.

"Bloody hell," cursed Ron. "I don't know anything about that charm, but I think it's pretty obvious that doesn't look good."

"No," agreed Madam Pomfrey as she finished her examination, "it doesn't. Miss Granger has a fever of forty-three degrees. I do not know what is causing it, but if it continues for much longer, she likely will not survive." Four anguished stares met her gaze. "Also, the rash on her face is a telltale sign of something I need to check for." The matron took a small glass vial and used her wand to painlessly siphon off a bit of blood from Danger's right forearm. She walked over to her office, pulled down a box, and placed a few shavings of the silvery-looking substance inside in the vial.

The blood hissed and spitted slightly.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "It is as I feared," she said. "Miss Granger apparently has a condition called lupus. I have no idea how she contracted it, since she tested normal last time she was in the hospital wing. Normally the disease is present from birth."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "And when was Danger last in here?" she asked.

"November the tenth," said Madam Pomfrey crisply. "I believe it was the result of an accident in Potions."

The bushy-haired girl sighed, defeated. _I thought it might have something to do with her connection to Remus . . . oh, well, it was worth asking._

Suddenly, Danger stiffened on the bed. Five heads immediately turned in her direction, watching anxiously to see what could have caused the change.

A few seconds later, she started jerking spasmodically, her fisted hands bent back at the wrists. Hermione looked on in horror as Madam Pomfrey confirmed her fears. "She's having a seizure," the mediwitch said, forcing her voice to stay calm and professional. "There's nothing we can do about it, just wait for it to end."

Amazingly enough, it was Ron who had the presence of mind to cast Cushioning Charms on the area—a mere second before they were tested as Danger's head came into contact with the headboard on her hospital bed.

Hermione clutched at her hair in anxiety.

_Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse._

_It did._

_Here's to hoping . . ._

* * *

Meanwhile, Remus Lupin slowly woke up in his house at number seven, Leo Lane.

_Merlin, I don't want to get up, don't have the energy . . . just want to sleep, and sleep some more . . ._

He tried to move his legs in order to get out of bed, but he just couldn't muster the necessary force.

_Oh, well. Staying here is fine by me,_ he thought groggily. _After all, I've still got company._ **Danger?**

No response.

**Danger? Are you there?**

Still nothing.

Panicking, Remus opened his mind to hers and tried to determine what was going on. What he found didn't comfort him at all. Danger's mind felt jagged, with rough edges and swirling colors and sounds that made no sense at all; Remus was sure the Danger he knew was in there somewhere, but confused, warped by some force outside her control . . .

He verbally characterized the situation with one short, pungent word.

At the same time as his mother walked in.

"Remus," she scolded absently. "Language." But as Katherine Lupin took one look at her son, the slightly stern expression faded into one of deep disquiet. "Remus, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," the werewolf mumbled. "Just tired, really tired, cold, and worried. Why d'you ask?"

"You're really pale, honey," his mother replied anxiously. "And this . . . you look like you've gone through a bad transformation or something, and I'm worried about you. What are you worried about?"

_Full truth will cause questions. Best stick to partial._ "Someone at Hogwarts named Danger—Gertrrude Granger—is really, really sick. Delirious, maybe a high fever. Could you ask Dad to Floo Madam Pomfrey and ask?"

"Sure, honey," Mrs. Lupin reassured, although she was frowning a bit in puzzlement. "John?" she called loudly.

John Lupin came running in. "What is it, d— oh my." Seeing Remus's condition had interrupted his earlier statement. "What's going on?"

Remus opened his mouth to reply, but his mother got the words out first. "Remus is really sick, like after a bad transformation, and he's worried about someone in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts named Gertrude Granger. Could you Floo Madam Pomfrey and check?"

As John did so, Katherine sat down next to her son's bed and asked a few questions. "Can you check on Danger again? I don't know how you knew, but—"

Shrugging a bit, Remus obliged. He searched out Danger's mind and found it as before, but even less lucid. "She's a bit worse than last time," he muttered. "Less lucid."

Katherine's eyes shone with unasked questions, but she settled for just one. "What color are Danger's eyes?"

"Brown," Remus replied without thinking. _Why do you want to know?_

"Interesting," his mother beamed. "Very interesting indeed. Did you know your eyes got some brown in them when you checked on her?"

"No, I didn't." _So I guess there is some physical manifestation of our connection._

"Is there anything you would like to tell me, Remus?"

"After I get better, Mum." _If I ever do._

John removed his head from the fire and frowned. "Miss Granger is running a fever of forty-four degrees and is showing signs of a disease called lupus. She's in critical condition right now, and nobody knows what to do."

Upon mention of the word "lupus," Remus actually managed to sit up before lack of energy forced him back down again. "Get me to the Hogwarts Hospital Wing right now," he said fiercely, but internally he was wracked with anguish. _This is because of me, I know it, lupus is related to lycanthropy . . . I never should've gotten involved with Danger, I can't do anything but hurt her! Hopefully I can at least make this better._

"Gladly," John said evenly. He threw a fistful of Floo Powder onto the flames. "Hospital Wing, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" Again, he stuck his head into the flames.

Not a minute later, it came out again, this time with a slight smile. "Dumbledore will be here in a minute."

_Good. At least I'll be able to help Danger now._

But he still couldn't shake the feeling that it was because of him she was like this in the first place . . .

Dumbledore and his phoenix arrived in a flash of flame. "Your curiosity could not have come at a more opportune time," he said gravely. "Please grab one of Fawkes' tail feathers and he will take you to the Hospital Wing."

Fawkes flew over to alight on Remus's shoulder. He tried to raise his arm to grab a feather, he really did, but he just couldn't muster the energy. "Can't," he whispered. "Too hard."

Katherine Lupin was at his side in an instant, supporting his arm up to grab onto Fawkes. "Thanks, Mum," he whispered, as Fawkes took him away in a whirlwind of fire.

When Remus opened his eyes, he was on a hospital bed next to—he turned his head slightly—Danger, with some sort of indicator spell on both of them. Danger was bright red and pink, while he was glowing faintly blue, with a grey patch on a familiar scar on his thigh . . .

"I'm going to push the beds together," Madam Pomfrey announced to the others; looking over, Remus recognized Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione. "They're showing as practically opposite symptoms; let's see if physical contact helps." Suddenly, Remus found his hand in Danger's, and within a few seconds he felt normal again.

Not to mention hungry. _A good sign, that. I never used to eat the day after my transformation._

_But I still have to talk to Danger. I knew this was too good to be true._

Danger, too, was now better; she blinked a few times, groaned slightly, and fell peacefully asleep.

"Amazing . . ." breathed Madam Pomfrey. "Simply amazing. I've never seen anything like it in my life. Remus, do you mind if I take a blood sample to test something?"

"Not at all." _When you're a werewolf, you get rather used to being poked and prodded._

The matron took some blood and repeated the silver test she had used for Danger.

"Remus?" she said, smiling. "You may want to see this. You're fine, by the way, you can get out of bed."

He did so, and walked over.

"Do you recognize the metal in this vial?"

Remus took a close look at it. It glinted in a way that was all too familiar—and frightening to him. "That's . . ." _silver, but it can't be._ "Is it really?"

"Yes, this is indeed silver, and your blood has indeed not reacted to it. You're not testing as a werewolf anymore. I believe you'll still transform, but perhaps without losing your mind . . ." She trailed off, apparently unsure of what to think.

"Interesting," Remus mused. "Talk to Dumbledore; he knows everything about my situation. And now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get out of here."

"Of course. Much as I'd like both of you to stay the night, I can't find any excuse for it, so you're free to go."

Remus whispered, "stealth mode," then said in a normal voice, "Thank you, Rowena."

"Young man, my name is not—" Madam Pomfrey stopped abruptly, for the object of her indignant retort was no longer in the room. "I'll never understand those teenagers, I swear . . ."

From just inside the entrance to the Den, Remus laughed quietly, before sobering as he remembered the reason he had come down here. **Danger, we need to talk. Now.**

It was an immense comfort when he heard the reply, delivered slightly groggily but with a mental smile: **If you say so. Gryffindor bedroom, five minutes.**

Five minutes of thumb-twiddling and solitary pacing later, Gertrude Granger fell out onto the crimson bed with a soft _thump_. She opened her eyes. "I love that slide. Anyway, Remus, what's up?"

_Merlin, this is hard._ "Listen, Danger, I knew this was too good to be true."

Danger's eyes blazed in fury. She had evidently caught the drift of his thoughts. "_What?_"

Remus gestured aimlessly. "This. Us. The taming. However hard I try, anything good I get always comes back to bite me in the arse." He sighed deeply and continued before Danger could retort. "Do you know why you had that fever, why you almost _died_? Do you know what Madam Pomfrey said?"

It took a few seconds for Danger to realize it wasn't a rhetorical question. "Go ahead, tell me."

"It's a disease called _lupus_!" he yelled. "Also known as the carrier form of lycanthropy! Now, where would you have gotten that except from me?" He was meeting her gaze fixedly now, almost daring her to contradict what he had said.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Why does it matter? I'm better now."

"Merlin, don't make this harder for me than it has to. _I! Have! Hurt! You!_ Because of _me_, you got a disease that almost killed you. As much as I hate to say it, we're going to have to stop seeing each other. I don't want you to get hurt more by me!"

Danger, it seemed, had finally had enough. "_Petrificus Totalus!_ God, men can be such _IDIOTS!_ **Consider _this_, Remus,**" she yelled, both mentally and verbally; if Remus had been able, he would have winced. "**Do you remember what caused this? It was the SEPARATION! We've been like this for over two months, and it's never been a problem until now. The effects only hit after we had been APART for—what, three days? And in case you don't remember, it was MY CHOICE to wait for you outside that night, on the basis of a prophecy and a vision—because _I love you,_ you idiot! And for the number of times we've said it, I damn hope the reverse is true!**" She waved her wand, terminating the Body-Bind on Remus, and collapsed on the bed, breathing deeply.

_Merlin._

_She is _thorough.

"Danger, of course I love you, and I mean it. And you're right; I didn't think things through. But try to see it from my point of view, will you? For ten years, I've been a bloodthirsty monster who can't get too close to people or he'll hurt them. Most people _saw_ me as that all the time, and one night per month, it was actually true." His voice was sad by now. "Forgive me for noting the connection between my condition and yours and trying to act to keep you _safe_!" he snapped sarcastically.

"Look," he continued more softly after a moment's silence. "I'm sorry, and I suppose you have every right to hate me now. Please, though, try to understand."

A much longer silence followed. Finally, Danger spoke solemnly. "I don't hate you, Remus; never have, never could. I don't even hate what you did, because I understand why you did it—although if you had gone further pushing me away, I might not have been so understanding. And I _definitely_ don't hate us, or our bond, or _any_ of its consequences. Clear?"

"Crystal." _Why do I always assume the worst in people?_

"Glad we've got that cleared up," Danger said cheerily. She sighed. "I won't deny this is a _lot_ to take in at once, or that it'll affect our relationship, but it's not an unwelcome lot, and I definitely hope it'll be a _good_ effect."

Remus tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "To be completely honest, I think this is probably a sign or something; I mean, most couples don't have mysterious magic that saves one from a debilitating illness and will cause both of them to die if they're apart for more than a few days . . . really, as long as we stay together, this is a good situation for both of this. I just worry that you feel—forced into it or something, I guess."

Danger laughed. "Not at all, Remus! If I had found this out a while back, I can see how it might've been too much. But now?" Her voice dropped a bit. "It's not making us do anything we wouldn't do anyway."

_Does she really mean . . ._

_Time enough to ponder _that_ later._

"Thank you, Danger," Remus said as he gave her a hug highly remniscent of Molly Weasley, his voice dripping with emotion. **I can't tell you how worried I've been about this.**

"Saving you from your own idiotic impulses, that's my job," Danger teased.

Remus was content enough to respond in kind. "And a better person to do it, I couldn't ask for."

_Here's to a 'future true',_ Remus thought quietly as they sat next to each other on the Gryffindor bed in silence.

_Together._

* * *

Albus Dumbledore walked down High Street of Hogsmeade, his long white beard swaying slightly in the breeze.

_An applicant for the post of Divination. Sibyll Trelawney, great-great-granddaughter of Cassandra Trelawney. And if Harry's future knowledge holds true, cerainly a Seer, though not a particularly talented one._

Madam Rosmerta, engaged as she was throwing out a rather boisterous alcoholic, caught his eye as he passed the Three Broomsticks. "Oh, hello, Professor!" she greeted jovially. "Would you care for a drink?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Thank you, Rosmerta, but I am afraid I must decline. I have an appointment for an interview to fill a position on the teaching staff in just a few minutes."

Rosmerta smiled. "I understand, Professor. Any time."

He continued to walk down High Street, turning left onto a dingy side alley that led to his destination. _The Hog's Head. Widely known as a rather dodgy bar, run by a rather dodgy man._

_Also one of my greatest sources of information, considering the 'rather dodgy man' is my brother._

Dumbledore entered the bar, greeting Aberforth with nothing more than a stiff nod. _It would do no good to invite unnecessary suspicion, after all._ He ascended the stairs with muffled footsteps, reached the top, and walked to the door of room number seven. He chuckled softly at the number. _Knowing Sibyll as I do, I would not be surprised if she asked for this room expressly._

He raised one hand and rapped on the flimsy door a few times. _I should certainly hope this interview proves not to be so earth-shattering as it was in Harry's timeline . . ._

Hopes, the aged Headmaster would soon discover, were such dangerous things.

The interview started ordinarily enough; Professor Dumbledore posed some basic questions about the principles of Divination, which Trelawney answered quite well, if a touch melodramatically. When he asked her to predict something, though, he received what would soon become a well-known indignant response: "The Inner Eye does not See upon command!"

"I see," Dumbledore said gravely, shaking his head slightly.

Trelawney seemed to sense the Headmaster's misgivings. "But wait . . ." she whispered, her voice even more misty and mysterious than before. "I see . . . death, lying ahead of you . . ."

_Death lies ahead of us all,_ he thought with an inward grin. _The "next great adventure," as it were. I must be honest with myself: I have seen no trace of the gift of Sight in Sibyll Trelawney thus far, and I certainly cannot make my staffing decisions on the basis of what could have happened._

After several more minutes of perfunctory questions that did no wonders for the faux Seer's prospects, Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Thank you, Sibyll. Your application is certainly appreciated. However—"

Whatever he was about to say, though, it never passed his throat, for Sibyll Trelawney had entered a trance-like state that warranted the Headmaster's complete attention. Her head lolled back, her eyes rolled in their sockets, and when she spoke, it was in the harsh tones he had heard just once before, in a memory . . .

"_The One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord emerges . . . born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . . marked for by the Dark One as an equal in a time out of memory, he will answer questions yet to be asked . . . and he will join unto eleven with power the Dark Lord knows not; but either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives . . . the One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will emerge as the fourth moon wanes . . ._"

As soon as Trelawney had said "_The One_—" in that harsh, mystic voice, Dumbledore had whipped out his wand and begun furiously casting a Silencing Ward around the room. _If I had arrived here before her, I would have cast these then, but as I did not, I could not risk her suspicion during the interview . . . I can only hope they will not be tested._ The wards flashed golden in activation just after "_eleven_".

Trelawney's eyes blinked, and when they reopened, they were back in their former positions. "So sorry, Headmaster, I think I must have dozed off . . ."

"Perhaps." _I should not want to bolster her already highly inflated self-opinion, and the truth would only put her at greater risk._ "Sibyll Trelawney, it is my pleasure to offer you the post of Professor of Divination at Hogwarts School of Witchraft and Wizardry. Winter term begins January the third; please be at the castle by the first so that you may organize your lessons." He stood in a clear dismissal.

"Thank you, Professor," Trelawney intoned as she also stood, shaking his hand. "I will see you on the first."

Remembering what had happened in the alternate timeline—at least, what he had told Harry had happened—Dumbledore surreptitiously cast a Silencing Charm on his feet as he walked to the door, then Banished it open with as much force as he could use without shattering it.

He was rewarded by a dull _thud_.

* * *

The brutish, shady man listening at the keyhole grinned excitedly. _The Seer has made a prophecy,_ he thought with glee, _and it concerns the Dark Lord. My master will reward me greatly for this information . . ._

When the Seer's voice cut off, he thought nothing of it. _Perhaps the old fool is just waiting for her to come out of her trance._ Being a rather simple-minded man, the eavesdropper knew nothing of Silencing Wards; if he had, he might have known to quit while he was ahead.

As it was, though, he was struck completely off guard by the door thrust open with nary a sound's warning; the impact sent him careening to the floor, and as he struggled to get back on his feet, he found himself face-to-face with the business end of Albus Dumbledore's wand.

_Not the best place to be, really._

"Walden Macnair," Dumbledore said levelly, though there was a hint of steel in his voice. "Taken to listening at doors, I see?"

_Have to get out of here . . . no wards on this place, just need to Apparate . . ._

"No matter." Dumbledore raised his wand slightly and said the first syllable of a spell. "_Ob—_"

_Destination—the Riddle House._ Macnair pictured the once-elegant manor house in his mind, the basement of which was now used as a safe house of sorts for the Death Eaters—

"_—liv—_"

_Determination._ He focused quickly on his intent to Apparate, to move through space to his destination, to do _anything_ just to escape this bloody spell—

"_—i—_"

_Deliberation._ Turning on the spot, he forced himself into the compressing tube of nothingness—

"_—ate!_" The Memory Charm hit Macnair just as he disappeared.

A few seconds of compression later, Walden Macnair found himself between two shelves in the basement of the Riddle House—the only Apparation point in the building.

_Why am I here, though?_

Early in his career as a Death Eater, Macnair had made it a point not to seek out the Dark Lord's company any more often than absolutely necessary. The Dark One's temper could be volatile at best, and it was best not to brave his wrath without good reason—few survived.

As he wracked his brain, vague wisps of recollection drifted back to him . . . listening at the keyhole as Dumbledore interviewed a Divination candidate, learning something that would earn him great favor . . .

_Now if I could only remember what it was!_

Another idea floated into Macnair's rather empty head. _The Dark Lord is the most powerful wizard alive . . . if my memory's been modified somehow, he could probably fix it._

His mind made up, Macnair walked to a stone in the corner of the basement surrounded by an iridescent, shimmering green barrier. He passed through it with nothing more than a slight shiver, knowing as he did that it would painfully kill anyone not Marked, and placed both his hands on the orb wedged between the walls, swirling with sickly dark green vapors. "I, Walden Macnair, do hereby request an audience with the Dark Lord."

The answer shot into his mind, a probing, high-pitched voice accompanied by no insignificant degree of pain. "Granted—at our meeting tonight, Macnair. You can wait like everyone else." A cackle, another, sharper burst of pain, and his mind was once again his own.

_For now, I've done my part._

And with that thought, he Apparated back to his rural home.

* * *

Sleeping in his own four-poster bed for the first time in a week, Harry dreamed.

He was in a gleaming replica of Hogwarts, in a room off the Great Hall, with a man who looked like Scrimgeour telling him he must accept his heritage, and he would, if only he knew what it was . . . but this was a simple dream, forgotten long before sunrise.

Suddenly, the scene changed, and Harry found himself in a dark room lit by torches of green flame, sitting on a thronelike chair with what he knew to be dozens of his followers kneeling before him. "Rise, Macnair," he said, and when he spoke, it came out as a high-pitched, cruel sound . . . there was something wrong with this picture, but he couldn't figure out what it was . . .

Macnair rose.

"You asked to speak to me?" Again, the cruel voice almost _daring_ one to contradict, to cower, to do anything not allowable—and suffer the consequences.

"Yes, my Lord." _Barely a hint of nervousness in his voice, but his pitifully weak mind shows the truth. I am not impressed._ "I have come because I have information that you should find most valuable."

"No, you have come out of fear of my wrath. But do tell. What is it that has made you single yourself out in such a dangerous way?" The last sentence was almost sarcastic.

"M– my Lord, I— don't remember."

"You _don't remember_. How amusing. There are ways to reverse a Memory Charm, you know . . . a potion, which I do not have and which takes days to make . . . and two faster methods: the finicky way and the painful way. Can you guess which I will use?"

It wasn't a rhetorical question. Lord Voldemort _never_ asked rhetorical questions. "The first one, my Lord?"

"Tut, tut, Macnair." _How amusing indeed._ "You should know me better by now." Harry felt himself raise his wand; he was watching rather detachedly at the moment, neither knowing nor caring why "he" was doing what he was; he wasn't even sure time was passing normally. "_Legilimens!_"

A spiky, barb-covered mental probe penetrated the flimsy barrier of Walden Macnair's mind. It ground through images of no importance, searching for a suspiciously blank, smooth area—and finally found it. Digging very painfully through the nothingness, Voldemort's probe finally recreated the connection to the memory Dumbledore had partially suppressed. Sibyll Trelawney's harsh tones resounded through his mind, and through Harry's. The scene suddenly seemed to slow down as the words, repeated over and over, ingrained themselves into his memory . . .

The probe withdrew, barbs catching all the way out, and Macnair fainted. Harry surveyed him dispassionately. "I would torture you for your stupidity, but it seems I already have. Nott! Return Macnair to his home."

"Yes, my Lord," said one of the youngest Death Eaters there.

Harry felt himself snap his fingers, and he was suddenly in a closed room with no windows, no doors, and only a white circle on the stone floor. _They will never suspect,_ he thought. _They see me silent and simply wait, thinking I am simply testing their patience, never even considering that I have replaced myself with an illusion. The pitiful fools._

But that was of no importance. He had sought out privacy for a simple reason. _My greatest treasures . . ._ Layering the room with layers upon layers of wards, activating the Incineration Curse on the walls, floor, and ceiling, he finally felt assured of his privacy. _No precaution is too much for this._

Voldemort unlocked the huge mental vault door behind which he hid his most precious secrets, allowing the details of their existence, location, security, and his plans for them to fill his thoughts. _If this upstart hero has the power to "vanquish" me, he must be able to destroy my Horcruxes. I shall have to make that impossible by hiding the two I keep with me where no one would find or suspect. The locket of my ancestors, in the cave perhaps . . . the diary I could entrust to Malfoy . . ._

As he pondered the five facets of his immortality, the self-styled Lord Voldemort thought savagely of this "One" who could defeat him. _As if! Even Dumbledore could not defeat me now. I'll have to kill him, of course, once I figure out who it is . . . and I will make my final Horcrux with his death instead of Dumbledore's; it seems fitting, after a fashion. Then, none will stand in my way!_

Realization of what he had witnessed set in, and Harry pulled his mind away from the connection and woke with a start, his scar burning as it had not for nearly a year and a half.

* * *

Harry sat bolt upright, clapped a hand to his scar, and tried for a few minutes to get back to sleep . . .

Until he remembered what he had seen.

_I can't believe it! I know all the Horcruxes now!_

He couldn't hold his elation in anymore. "YES!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

The noise even woke up Ron. "Whassa matter?" the red-haired boy mumbled sleepily.

Harry's grin threatened to extend past his ears. "I just had another scar-dream, only I actually found out something really important from this one."

Ron opened his eyes fully. "What?"

"Take a guess, Ron. What Voldemort-related things have I been worrying about for the past six months?"

"The Horcruxes?"

"Exactly!" Harry laughed. "All five of them! Ring, diary, locket, cup, and his wand. And I know where they are—well, where they are _now_, since Voldemort was planning on hiding a couple of them better. I'll explain more tomorrow; for now, I need to write this down before I forget it."

"That's great, mate! Really lucky."

"I don't think it was luck," Harry said levelly. "I think the emotions associated with finding out about the prophecy probably opened the link . . ."

"Prophecy?" Ron mumbled on the edge of sleep. "What prophecy?"

But he was snoring before Harry could answer.

_Weird how that worked. Now that I think about it, I probably _did_ hear Voldemort's thoughts from past dreams; it's just that none of them were worth remembering. And all that protection for the memories of the Horcruxes made them that much more distinct once he finally released them . . ._

Harry had grabbed a quill and parchment and was scribbling, by wandlight, every detail he could remember from the dream. He paid special attention to the Horcruxes, trying to write down even the faintest thing he could remember—but the memories were fading fast, and he was sure he was forgetting a few details. _Better than nothing, at least._ The locket and diary had been kept at Voldemort's side in the past, but he now had plans for them—plans having to do with Bellatrix and Malfoy, Harry thought, but it didn't really matter, since he remembered those from the future. The ring, similarly, had been hidden at the Gaunt hovel for quite a long time.

It was the other two Horcruxes for which the information was most welcome. The cup, interestingly enough, had been hidden in the orphanage, concealed in the very wardrobe Dumbledore had set on fire. And the other one was Voldemort's wand.

The earliest part of the dream was hazy recollection of a recollection, but the connection seemed to have solidified just as Voldemort heard the prophecy, and as he played the words over and over in his mind, so too had Harry . . .

_Maybe,_ Harry thought as he wrote, _maybe we finally have a chance._

* * *

December 20 dawned like any other day on Christmas break in Potter Manor: very quietly. The kids were still sleeping, after all—

—until, around ten o'clock, two heavy-footed blurs known as James Potter and Sirius Black came barreling down the main staircase.

James's mother, Paige Potter, was waiting for them. She laughed softly and shook her head in bemusement. "I don't suppose I'll ever get you two to stop doing that," she said with an almost Dumbledoreish twinkle.

The two Marauders sported identical grins as they replied in unison. "No, we don't suppose you will."

Paige raised her eyebrows. "The two of you never cease to amaze me. Normally I'd only expect that sort of unison from twins. But that's beside the point." Her slight smile changed into a wide grin. "Happy birthday, James."

James grinned too. "Thanks, Mum."

"So, shall I ask Mopsy to fix your favorite breakfast?"

"Sounds good."

The house-elf in question needed no further prompting; she appeared with a _pop_, squeaked, "Your breakfast is being ready in just a few minutes, Master James, Siri!" and disappeared again.

Sirius laughed. "I've probably said this before, but your house-elf is _so_ much nicer than Kreacher. Even if she does call me 'Siri'."

"Ah, Sirius, I don't think you've told me this one," said Paige eagerly. "Who is Kreacher?"

Sirius frowned in remembrance. "My family's house-elf. Used to follow me around constantly, muttering stuff designed to convert me to the family's elitist point of view." He mananged to smile. "Failed miserably, of course."

"Well, we're glad you're here now. Anyway, shall we go into the kitchen? Mopsy will have your breakfast done soon, and after that, James, there's something your father needs to talk to you about." Her voice was stern, but there was a teasing glint in her eyes.

James adopted a worried expression as they walked. "Good something or bad something?"

Paige gave a short bark of laughter. "Good something, definitely. Has to do with your coming of age. But an important something, _serious_ something."

"Oh, so it has to do with me?" Sirius piped up.

Paige groaned. "That joke is dead, trampled upon, and buried. Please don't make an Inferius of it."

"Fine, fine. I'll leave James and Mr. Potter to their Seriously Serious Now-That-You're-Of-Age Discussion. For now—"

Charles Potter, James's father, walked into the kitchen, cutting off whatever Sirius might have had to say. "Good morning, boys. Happy birthday, James."

"Thanks, Dad."

Four plates appeared on the table as they sat down. "Breakfast!" shouted two voices.

_Teenage boy, noun. A stomach on two legs,_ thought Charles as he ate with a smile.

The family ate in contented silence. _Of course, I doubt those two have any room for words between their enormous bites . . ._

Finally, four plates were polished off, the table was cleared, and father and son were walking into James's bedroom. Charles shut the door and layered the room with wards.

"What was that for?"

"That," Charles said heavily, "was to protect us. Now that you're of age, there's some information you need to know. Some of what I'm about to tell you is common knowledge, at least if you look in the right books, but there's an important bit that _must_ be kept secret, not just for your sake but for your descendants'. Trust me, you'll understand when you get to it."

"Understood."

"All right." Charles conjured two chairs and sat in one of them; James took the other. "What do you know about the Hogwarts Founders?"

The apparent non sequitur took James completely by surprise. "Um. . . they founded the school, and Slytherin hated Muggle-borns? Not much more than that, to be honest."

"Binns hasn't gotten any more interesting, I see." Charles laughed slightly. "Each of the Founders had a special talent for wandless magic: Slytherin could speak to snakes, Hufflepuff could make plants grow, Ravenclaw had a wandless Healing power, and Gryffindor could control fire."

James said nothing, simply waited for his father to continue, as it was clear he had plenty to say.

"Furthermore, each of these talents was passed down to their descendants."

"Why isn't it easier to identify the Heirs, then? Just look for people with a certain ability . . . wait, _do_ all the lines still exist?"

"Various reasons, and yes, they do. Would you ever think to just try to 'convince' a plant to grow, or try to heal someone with just a touch, if you didn't know you had the ability? Or if you never were around snakes, would you ever realize you were a Parselmouth?"

"Makes sense." _That's Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin . . . what about Gryffindor?_ James voiced his question, and his father's eyes lit up.

"Ah, but Gryffindor was different. Fire is a basic element; it's rather chaotic, exactly the sort of thing suited to accidental magic. Now, would _you_ like to be around a baby that threw fireballs when it was upset?"

James laughed outright.

"Didn't think so. Now, for this reason, Gryffindor's power was generally bound at birth by blood relatives; the tradition is to unbind it around the time of someone's majority."

"Why are you telling me all this, Dad? I mean, it's interesting, but—"

Charles's voice dropped. "Everything before now is no secret—few people know it, but it's described in all sorts of books; the one I know of is _The Life and Times of the Hogwarts Founders_. And now . . . well, I'll just demonstrate." He held out his hand.

James blinked. When he opened his eyes again, the hand was filled with a ball of fire. Gaping, he managed to stammer, "You're— I'm—"

Charles smiled genially and extinguished the flames. "Indeed, James. You are the Heir of Gryffindor."

_Wow._

_I just can't believe this. Who would?_

_And it's true. Amazing._

"Now, the binding is easy to undo, but tradition is for the father to say a few words beforehand. So, here goes. Quite honestly, I'm proud of you, James. I know you've always been a bit of a joker—the letters from McGonagall were quite entertaining sometimes—but you have a good head on your shoulders, strong values, and you're willing to act to defend those you love. It's a magnificent trait to have, and precious few do. So I guess what I'm trying to say is . . . James, you did well by us. Your mother and I couldn't have asked for a better son. I know you're going out into the world soon, and I'm confident you'll make a difference, because that's just who you are."

The sincerity of this little speech brought tears to James's eyes—a rare occurrence. "Thank you, Dad," he said thickly, walking over to give Charles a hug. "I'll do my best."

"That's all I ask. And now . . . listen closely, because you'll have to do this for your own children someday." He stood up and, motioning for James to do so as well, placed his hands on his shoulders. "By the power within me and the blood we share, I do hereby release any bindings that may be on the power of the line of Godric Gryffindor within you, James Tiberius Potter, my blood son. I charge you to use this power always for good, never for evil, and to remember that even the very wise cannot see all ends." Charles's hands tightened for a moment. "And also to remember that I love you and I couldn't be prouder of what you've become. Receive that power which is rightfully yours."

Later, James would be hard-pressed to find words to describe the experience. It felt as though some sort of inner flame had been awakened in him, filling his body to the tips of his fingers and toes with oddly comforting fire, then almost instantaneously fading but remaining as well . . .

He looked at a torch on the wall. _Go out._

It went out.

_Relight._

It lit up.

"Amazing. Thanks, Dad."

"As I said, it's rightfully yours." Charles sighed and adopted a serious expression. "Do you understand why this has to be kept a secret?"

_Oh, yeah. That part._ "Yes—it gives us an advantage if others don't know about the power, and if someone knows I have it they can trace it to my children, and theirs. But still—what good is a power like this if you can't use it?"

"That goes to your own good judgement. Which, against all evidence, I am still convinced you possess."

"So I can tell my friends, then?"

"If you would trust them with your life—and you mean that—then yes, you can trust them with this. If not, think hard before saying anything. And you should tell your wife, if and when you get married. As for using the power—if it'll save your life, obviously, use it. If you can use it without arousing suspicion, feel free. Again: good judgement."

"I understand, Dad."

"All right. One more thing." He took a ring James had never seen before off his right hand ring finger and held it out for him to take. It had a gold G engraved into some sort of opaque red stone, set on a gold band. "This is the Gryffindor signet ring," Charles explained. "I would advise against wearing it in public, since some people might recognize it. Whatever the circumstances, it's yours now."

"Thank you," James said sincerely.

"Hey, you only come of age once. And now for the less earth-shattering part of your birthday: Presents!"

James smiled as he left the room to rejoin Sirius and his waiting gifts. He would have _so_ much to tell the Marauders when he got back to school . . .

* * *

Later that day, after all presents were opened and a few games of one-on-one Quidditch dutifully played, Charles took James aside again. "I want to show you something," he said, steering him in the direction of . . .

_The family tapestry?_

"Here we are. Look next to your name."

The Potter family tapestry was done in a light yellow with red writing (_and now I know why_), and rather like the ones owned by most old pureblood families, it listed names and dates of birth and death in a family tree.

One element of it, though, was unique to the Potter family: each name had a small symbol next to it—a cross, a star, or a hollow or filled flame. James's eyes were drawn to the symbol next to his own name (_James, 1959–_) as it morphed into the last of these.

_I never asked what those meant, but I guess I know now._

"The tapestry is enchanted only to change when someone looks at it," Charles explained. "So you actually notice the changes."

"I wonder where Harry is on here . . ."

"Harry who?" Charles asked sharply.

"Harry Potter, one of the new kids at Hogwarts this year." James looked the tapestry up and down. "The only Harrys, Harolds, and Henrys on here are all long dead . . ."

"Same here. I don't know of anyone named Harry in our family, sorry."

"That's—" James stopped short. The tapestry was changing again.

Ever so slowly, a line of embroidery was stiching its way horizontally to the right of his name, as if to form a connection.

"What's that?" James whispered.

"Well, I certainly hope it's not what I think it is." Charles was frowning.

The line of stitching made a right angle turn after about an inch, so that it was now travelling down.

James's father fixed him with a piercing stare. "James Tiberius Potter! Did you do anything you shouldn't have—in _that way?_"

James knew exactly what _way_ his dad was talking about, and he certainly knew _that_ wasn't the cause of this problem. "No, Dad! Of course not!" He was horrified at the very thought. "Can we just wait for the tapestry to finish stitching? We don't even have all the information yet."

Having traveled another inch, the line of stitching stopped. Just below it, letters formed simultaneously.

_Harry,_ and a hollow flame next to it.

And then, just below that, the life dates:

_1980–._

"I think that's our first clue that something strange is going on here."

Charles sighed and forced a smile. "Well, James, I guess you're not at fault for this one. Not yet, at least."

The answers weren't all there yet, either. Continuing the horizontal segment of the line extending to the right of James's name, an inch of dashes formed more rapidly, and another name was magically embroidered into the tapestry at the end of it:

_Lily Evans._

James burst out laughing. "SIRIUS VALENTINE BLACK!" he yelled. "COME HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"

The sound of four padded feet running furiously echoed through the halls, and Sirius skidded around the corner in human form some ten seconds after James called for him.

Charles raised an eyebrow. "That did _not_ sound like human footsteps." James gave him a Look that said quite clearly, _there are some things better left unknown_, and he finally relented. "All right, fine, I won't ask."

"Sirius," James half-snarled, half-laughed. "What did you do to the family tapestry?"

"What?" Sirius was bewildered. "I didn't do anything to it, I swear! I didn't even know you had one!"

"Oh yeah? Look at the last line, next to my name!"

Sirius did so, and cracked up just like James. "I didn't do it," he gasped, "but whoever did was brilliant! You and Lily Evans, honestly!"

James was smiling too, but when he spoke, it was in a level voice. "Look down, Sirius."

He did so, and stopped laughing, though a few chuckles still escaped. "Harry _Potter_? Your and Lily's son? That's impossible!"

"The tapestry doesn't lie, boys," Charles interjected. "And as far as I know, it can't be fooled. We don't know anything more than what's on it, but I'd say a thorough questioning of Harry is in order after you get back to school. Are you friendly with him?"

James grimaced in memory of their initial tension. "After some initial pratlike behavior, yeah. Come to think of it, he always seemed _disappointed_ in us when we acted up, which would definitely make sense if he was my son . . ."

_Another day, another time._

_And yet _another_ big thing to tell the rest of the Marauders._

* * *

On December 25, Lily Evans woke at the crack of dawn.

_Christmas! Presents! Family!_

For as long as she could remember, Christmas Day had been an especially well-celebrated holiday in the Evans household. Her parents Harold and Chelsea obliged the children's insane hours of sleep the night before, often waking up as early as three o'clock in the morning . . .

_Petunia hasn't gotten up early on Christmas for five years._ The thought saddened Lily a bit; Petunia was her sister, three years older, yet the two could hardly stand to talk to each other anymore. _Everything changed after I got my Hogwarts letter,_ she remembered.

Forcing such thoughts from her mind, Lily bounded out of bed and ran down the stairs two at a time. Her parents, awakened by the noise, were down a minute later.

_As for Petunia . . . if she didn't hate magic so much, I bet she'd ask me to put a spell on her room to prevent any noise getting in. She'll probably wake up early, fall back asleep within a minute, and just tack it onto the list of reasons to hate me. Her list of grudges is second to none._

"Happy Christmas, sweetheart," said Chelsea lovingly.

"Happy Christmas, Mum, Dad. Any owls come?"

"Why, yes, some did," answered Harold. "I believe there were six last night."

Lily smiled in anticipation.

"Presents are on the table, dear," her mother said. "Go to it."

Another one of the Evans Christmas traditions, and the one Lily used to hate most: _No opening presents until Mum says so!_

Rummaging through the dozen or so packages, Lily picked out one medium-sized one that looked as though it had been jostled a bit in flight. She opened and read the card attached aloud (yet another tradition).

"_Lily, I remember you telling me you liked these. Enjoy, preferably in class! —Prongs (James Potter)_" Ripping open the wrapping paper eagerly, she found a box of—

"Oh, James got me some Sugar Quills!"

"Sugar quills?" Harold asked curiously. "I don't think you've mentioned those."

"Oh, they act like normal quills, except they're made of sugar so you can suck on them while you're writing. They're one of my favorites from Honeydukes; to be honest, I'm surprised James remembered I liked them. I only mentioned it once."

"So he's 'James', not 'Potter' now, is he?" her dad teased.

"Oh, shush, Harold," Chelsea said. "And attentiveness is the mark of a gentleman, you know."

Lily blushed. It was somewhat of an open secret now among her family that she did, in fact, _like_ James; when he wasn't being a prank-happy idiot, he could actually be quite sweet . . .

_Petunia still doesn't know, though. Good for her; all she does is go on about _her_ boyfriend Vernon and the nice pearls he sent her. Doesn't mention he's an idiot, I notice; birds of a feather flock together, I guess._ Lily had felt particularly uncharitable toward the once and future Dursleys ever since she learned how they had treated Harry, though so far she had managed to refrain from any actual violence. _That would be hard to explain . . . what would I say, "I hexed you because you might treat my kid like dirt five years from now"?_

The next present she opened was one from Harry. Again, she read the card aloud before tearing off the wrapping paper. "_Lily, this is a magical communication mirror. Sirius and I have them, as does James, wink, wink, nudge, nudge. To use it, just grab it and say the name of the person you want to talk to; their mirror will vibrate, and if all goes well you can talk to each other. Use it well. —Harry_"

There was another line, too, that Lily didn't read out loud. _Call me on this thing in private as soon as you get a chance,_ it read in a different ink; she suspected it had been charmed to only be visible to wizards and witches. _There's more to this mirror than meets the eye._

"Who's Harry?" asked Harold.

_My son from the future,_ Lily was very tempted to respond. Instead, she settled for, "Harry Potter, one of the new kids this year. I'm pretty good friends with him."

After opening all her other presents and spending some rare quality time with her parents, Lily retreated to her room, supposedly to start reading one of the books her parents had given her (_The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_). It wound up being about nine o'clock when she took out her mirror and said clearly, "Harry Potter."

The surface of the mirror, which had a second before shown her own face, swirled with inky black for a few seconds, then showed Harry's. "Hi, Lily," he said, smiling. "In a place where you can talk?"

"Yes, quietly. Mum thinks I'm reading."

Harry dropped his voice. "Fair enough. Anyway, for your _other_ present, open the little catch at the bottom of the mirror's handle."

Lily did so, and a golden ring fell out.

She gasped as she saw the inscription. _JTP + LCE._ "Is this—"

"Yes," Harry said softly, "it's your wedding ring from the future. I thought you might want to have it."

Overcome, Lily found her vision blurring a bit. "Thank you, Harry, so very, very much," she said with a beatific smile.

Harry smirked back at her. "Just be sure to replace it with one from this timeline sometime soon."

"Oh, you—" Lily slapped the mirror, then realized what she had done and laughed.

_Despite everything, life is good._

* * *

After he and Danger discovered the consequences of their bond, Remus stayed at Hogwarts for the rest of the holidays. His parents had received their promised explanation, and had taken the news with, overall, surprising equanimity. "I'm just glad you're happy," was what Katherine Lupin had said. Remus had fallen into their routine almost instantly; he, too, felt a sort of attachment to the Den, and like everyone else, he spent all the time he could there without arousing suspicion.

Today, though, December 26, Harry needed to have a long-overdue talk with someone.

"Mars Bar!" The gargoyle moved aside; Harry climbed up the stairs it revealed and knocked.

"Come in, Harry." _Always knows it's me, somehow._

Harry did as requested, sitting down in the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk.

"What can I do for you this fine morning?" the Headmaster asked, eyes at full twinkle.

In response, Harry handed Dumbledore the memory vial and piece of parchment in his hands; Dumbledore pushed them to the side of his desk and continued to look at him questioningly. "My scar tends to act up when Voldemort is feeling strong emotion," Harry explained. "Finding out about that prophecy apparently qualified. To make a long story short, I know where the Horcruxes are, at least some of them—Voldemort has this elaborate mental "safe" for those memories, but that just made it that much easier to see them as he took them out—and I'd like to hear the full prophecy."

"This is fortuitous news indeed, though I certainly believe you should try to learn to control your connection. If Voldemort finds he has access to your mind, terrible things could result."

"Didn't you say something about that at the end of my fifth year?" Harry asked. "'In the end, it mattered not that you could not close your mind; it was your heart that saved you'?"

Reminded of this, Dumbledore smiled. "Ah, yes. Voldemort will probably be unable to possess you for any extended period of time, possibly unable to delve into your mind, but he could still insert false visions—which, as your fifth year proved, could be disastrous." He sighed. "But first, the prophecy." Dumbledore prodded the silvery contents of his Pensieve with his wand, and the figure of Sibyll Trelawney in a trance rose out of it.

The words were just as chilling, just as memorable, the second time around.

"Voldemort knows it up to 'eleven'," Harry said.

"Ah, yes, the Silencing Ward. I started casting one as soon as I heard the beginning of the prophecy, but it took until then to activate. I also tried to Memory Charm Macnair, who was listening—"

"It worked. Sort of, at least. Voldemort was able to reconnect the memory with _Legilimens_." Harry shuddered in remembrance. "The pain made Macnair pass out." Both were silent for a few seconds.

"Do you have any ideas about interpreting the prophecy, Professor?" Harry finally asked.

"Indeed I do," Dumbledore said gravely. "The parts that are the same as the prophecy you remember, I shall skip over, as I believe I have already explained those to you, correct?"

Harry nodded.

"Excellent. The prophecy refers to your 'emergence', as the 'fourth moon wanes'—this would be sometime mid-April. Do you have any idea what might be approaching to cause this?"

"Not really, sir, but I have some ideas about the rest: the third part is a pretty clear reference to my coming from the future, I think, but I'm confused by the 'for by'. And the 'joining unto eleven' is probably with, let's see, James, Lily, Sirius, Aletha, Remus, Danger, Peter, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and I guess Rachel."

"I have my suspicions about both points of confusion, but they are just that—suspicions, not certainties. Please keep that in mind; powerful though I may be, I am not omniscent. Would you still like to hear them?"

"Of course, Professor."

"Very well. 'For by' is, I believe, a reference to the spell that creates a Horcrux; you were marked _for_ the splitting of Voldemort's soul _by_ him. In short, he probably intended to create his final Horcrux by killing you."

Harry gulped. This was rather disturbing information. "Did he succeed?"

"Quite possibly, but it is no worry of ours. The spell—which is bright green, by the way, exactly the color of the Killing Curse—kills the target, then rebounds in the direction of its caster, tearing out a part of his soul and forcing it into an object directly behind him, one that must be prepared beforehand. When it bounced off you without effect, Voldemort became both the murderer and victim; I believe he wound up, completely by accident, using his _own_ death to create his final Horcrux."

"Would that even work?" asked Harry.

"Certainly not in a predictable fashion. In this case, I believe a very small sliver of the extracted soul piece was thrown off and formed your scar."

"_WHAT?_" Harry nearly shouted, appalled. "My scar's a _Horcrux_?"

"No, no, not at all!" He had never heard a stronger denial in his life. "The soul sliver—it would be far too small to call a fragment—would retain a link that was tenuous at best to Tom Riddle himself. If the rest of his soul died, the sliver would not be enough to anchor it to earth; it would simply 'snap'."

"That makes sense. Quite a lot of sense, in fact. I've always wondered how I can speak Parseltongue—are you saying that's a part of the 'sliver' I got?"

"If my suppositions are correct, it is—and probably the only part. If you actually had a significant piece of Tom Riddle's soul within you, no matter where, it would show; that fragment would guide you to act in such a way that was beneficial to Tom. You have certainly not done so—indeed, you have foiled his plans at most every step—so please stop worrying about it."

Harry sighed deeply in relief, finally able to relax. _I know he said 'just a sliver', but it still was far too worrying . . ._

"Okay, so we've figured out 'for by'. You mentioned another unclear bit—what is it? I didn't notice any."

"To be brief, I believe your 'emergence' is the same event as the 'joining unto eleven'." Dumbledore's eyes had risen to extra-high twinkle.

"You mean, like some sort of bond?" _It makes sense, but what could we do?_

Dumbledore sighed heavily, as if he wanted to say much more than he could. "Indeed—the same bond, in fact, that my brother and I made. And I am afraid I can tell you no more; one of the rules of this bond is that those using it must discover it for themselves. Do not think overmuch on it; if it is meant to happen, it will. And I certainly would not tell your friend Hermione; it is not the sort of thing one finds in a book."

Harry blinked a few times. "Thank you, Headmaster; you've given me quite a lot to think about. Is there anything you would suggest I do about my connection to Voldemort?"

"Why, indeed, there is. Have you ever heard of Occlumency, Harry?"

Harry groaned. "Yes, I have. I think I've developed a permanent aversion to it thanks to the so-called 'instruction' of Severus Snape."

At this, Dumbledore actually smiled. "I would certainly love to see your memory of that incident sometime. However, I was actually hoping to teach you myself."

"Oh, in that case, definitely!" Harry's facial expressions had done a complete about-face. "I'm sorry, sir, I've just had very bad prior experience in the subject. I would trust you to teach it well, though."

"Thank you, Harry. Shall we say Monday nights at seven o'clock, then?"

"Sounds good. I'll be there then."

Student and headmaster stood up. "Good night, Harry," Dumbledore said softly.

"Good night, Professor."

Harry walked back to Gryffindor Tower, pondering what he had heard.

_My life is never normal._

_Just yet more stuff to discuss on January den-night . . ._

* * *

(A/N: I sincerely hope this winds up being my longest chapter. My plotlines are ballooning at a rate I had no right to expect.

The Animagus process belongs to Anne Walsh / whydoyouneedtoknow. Sirius's apology to Snape is based on a scene in her story "A Little Slice of Heaven."

Next chapter: "Life Goes On," in which just that happens, taking us through the relatively fluffy and uneventful months leading up to April 14, a date which Dangerverse readers should recognize . . .

Between one and four Pack members are going to die over the course of this story. When you review, feel free to tell me who you want it to be / not be.)


	8. Life Goes On

**Chapter 8: Life Goes On**.

On January 3, the first day back at school, Harry called a D.A. meeting.

"All right," he said once everyone had filed in. "You guys have been doing pretty well with most of the hexes and countercurses we've been teaching you. So, today, we're going to move onto something new, something you should find pretty fun . . . Patronuses."

Excited whispering broke out. "Can you do one?" someone asked excitedly.

"I wouldn't be teaching it if I couldn't." Harry looked at the three friends standing beside him and whispered, "All of us." He turned back to the class, and all four of them raised their wands. "_Expecto Patronum!_" four voices shouted.

The class ooh'ed and aah'ed appropriately at Ron's cat, Hermione's hawk (_interesting change there_), Ginny's wolf, and Harry's phoenix.

Wait . . . Harry's _phoenix_? He gaped at it disbelievingly. Wasn't his Patronus— but then, Ron's and Hermione's had changed too—

"Amazing!" shouted the eager kid, and various other similar exhortations followed. Harry shook his head and got back to the lesson. _When did _that _little change happen?_

"That's called a corporeal Patronus—when it has a clearly defined form. Those can actually chase down dementors, and take a lot of practice. Until then, you get a sort of mist that will just keep dementors from getting closer."

Hermione took up the thread of explanation, leaving Harry to his thoughts. _Why is my Patronus a phoenix now?_ he wondered. _Not that I don't like it—it seems fitting, in a way. It's just that it's no longer a stag . . ._

Remus's words from sixth year Christmas floated into his mind. "_Sometimes, a great change . . . an emotional upheaval . . ."_

_When did I last cast a Patronus, anyway?_

Harry thought for a bit, and the answer he came up with surprised him. _My Defense O.W.L.,_ he realized. _Before I saw James's prattitude for myself. Before I was charged to find the Horcruxes._

_Before Dumbledore died,_ a smaller voice said in his mind.

A hazy memory came unbidden to the surface of Harry's mind. In his fourth year, after Crouch Senior had broken the Imperius and been killed by his son on Hogwarts grounds, Dumbledore had sent off a message by way of what Harry now recognized as a Patronus. The image flitted behind his eyes . . . it was a phoenix.

_I'll definitely have to mention this to him._

Hermione had finished her lengthy explanation about the incantation and happy memories, and Peter was now posing a question. "What determines the form?"

Harry took it. "No one really knows," he explained. "I don't think it has anything to do with the memory you use, at least. It's more of—the image of someone you see as a protector, I guess, probably their Animagus form. And it can change, especially during adolescence. All four of ours have in the past two years.

"When I learned this spell, my Patronus was a stag, for a very good reason, but one which I will not disclose." Harry shot a signifcant glance at James. "It stayed that way through around my sixteenth birthday, but I haven't cast it since then. In all honesty, I don't know why or when the phoenix showed up.

"Maybe your Patronus will be the form of a loved one. In fact, if two people have _each other_'s forms, I bet that says a lot." Ron and Hermione blushed. "Maybe it'll be your own form, maybe it'll be a parent's or a friend's. Maybe, like me, you'll have no explanation at all. Really, though, it doesn't matter. Even, oh, a Golden Snidget Patronus could drive away dementors." A few laughs broke the tension.

"All right, everyone, get to it!"

The room was soon filled with shouts of "_Expecto Patronum!_" Harry and his friends stepped off the raised platform from which they taught and went from student to student, correcting a grip here, an incantation there, offering some advice on what constituted a 'happy memory'. Finally, Harry reached the Marauders, who were practicing as a group with Lily, Danger, Rachel, and Aletha.

"All right, I know _some_ of you are going to get this today." Harry smiled benignly. "Now which of you have managed it, and which of you haven't tried yet?" Eight sheepish grins resulted from that second question. "I knew it. Come on, Remus, Danger, let's see."

The two Harry named closed their eyes. **Are you thinking what I'm thinking?** Remus asked mentally.

**If you're thinking of a dream, a wedding, and a controlled transformation . . . then yes, I am.**

**How did you ever guess?**

"_Expecto Patronum!_" shouted two voices in unison. A huge, silvery predator emerged fully-formed from the tips of each of their wands: a wolf from Remus's, a lion from Danger's.

Harry grinned at them. "Congratulations. Now we all get to tease you for eternity, as it's more than clear that you two are destined to be together. Now . . . anyone else?"

Lily managed her tiger Patronus a few minutes later, followed by Rachel's rodent and Peter's almost-corporeal something that looked vaguely like an owl. Both of them blushed as they realized what that meant. "I— er—"

Rachel managed a smile. "Love is nothing to be ashamed about, Peter," she said calmly.

"You're right . . . as always . . ."

Another few minutes passed, with Harry making another round of the groups, and James and Sirius still hadn't gotten anything corporeal. "I can get some mist," James said exasperatedly, "but beyond that—"

Harry frowned. "What memory were you using?"

"First time I played Quidditch," he responded instantly, beaming.

"Not good enough." Harry chuckled a bit. "You're suffering from the same problem I did. Look for something with _joy_ moreso than happiness. This spell is really powered by love. Maybe something your parents or friends have said or done?"

James's eyes lit up at that; he closed them for a moment in concentration before incanting, "_Expecto Patronum!_" The silvery stag that bounded out was testament to the strength of the memory.

"Nice one!" Sirius exclaimed. "What'd you use, Prongs?"

"Something my dad said on my birthday," he muttered. "Can't talk about it here. Den on Wednesday." James turned to face Harry. "And my form reminded me of something. What did you mean when you said your Patronus used to be a stag?"

"Exactly what I said, _Prongs_," said Harry, stressing the last word.

James gaped at him before settling for a resigned expression. "You have a lot to tell us on Wednesday, you know. My family tapestry said something _quite_ interesting."

Sighing, Harry responded. "Should've known," he muttered. "Fine, you'll get your explanation. Keep up the work, guys, Sirius and Aletha especially." He paused, seeming to consider something. "Peter, I need to talk to you for a minute."

"Er, okay." The unlikely pair walked over to an unused corner of the room; Harry cast a Privacy Spell. "What is it?"

Harry sighed. "Simple question for which I need an honest answer. Can I trust Rachel?"

"Absolutely." Peter's response was vehement. "Her own dad was killed by V– Vol– You-Know-Who, you know. She may not be outspoken about it, but she hates Him with a passion for it. Why do you ask?"

"I'm considering inviting her to join our little group," Harry responded. "And with what you said, I think I will. As for why—she seems a good enough sort, motivated, and she's your girlfriend; plus a prophecy I heard that mentions me plus eleven. Since I only knew ten, I figured I was missing someone . . ."

Peter smiled. "I know for a fact she's interested. Thanks for giving her the chance. How do you get into the Den from Ravenclaw, anyway?"

Even though they were inside a Privacy Spell, force of habit caused Harry to whisper. "Say, 'Thank you, Rowena' by the fireplace in the Ravenclaw common room. If there's people around who would see you go into a hole in the wall, preface it with 'stealth mode'. Saying the password again closes the passageway." His voice rose back to normal. "Oh, and remind me to add her to the access list."

"Remember to add Rachel to the access list!" Peter chirped.

"Oh, very funny." Harry cancelled the Privacy Spell and walked back over to the group. "Thanks, Peter. Sirius, Aletha, any luck?"

They were both frowning. "Nothing more than some mist," Aletha said. "I think I might be doing the spell wrong . . ."

"I told you, you're doing it perfectly fine!" Sirius said heatedly. "You just need a better memory!"

"And what would _you_ know about that, Sirius Black?"

"Guys!" Harry yelled. "I swear, you're like Ron and Hermione before they got together," he mumbled.

It wasn't so incomprehensible as not to be heard, though. Sirius and Aletha both blushed (a rare sight); Harry and the other Marauders just laughed. "Back to work, all of you!"

* * *

"Be welcome, all, to this den-night," Harry intoned. His voice changed back to normal as he surveyed the ten Gryffindors and one Ravenclaw sitting on the couches. "Hi, Rachel. Wondering what we get up to down here?"

"I'm definitely curious, yeah. Advanced duelling tactics? Plans for defeating Voldemort?" There was a lilt to her voice that made it clear she was only teasing.

"Oh, nothing of the sort," Harry laughed. "Mostly, we have fun, together, in a secure environment free from prying anythings. This place is officially the Heart of Hogwarts, or so one of the house-elves said, but we just call it the Den. It has eight entrances, two per House, one in each common room and one in some other spot. Kitchens to kitchens, library to hospital wing, Quidditch pitch to a rock out on the grounds, and bathroom we haven't been able to figure out." He pointed out each door as it was mentioned. "Let's see. . . anything else?"

Ginny spoke up. "There are a lot of things we talk about in here that absolutely must stay secret, though. Den-secrets, I guess you could call them. Not to be talked about even when you _think_ nobody is watching—invisibility cloaks, Disillusionment Charms, Silencing Charms, all exist. Because we really _do_ talk about plans for defeating Voldemort, sometimes."

"Which brings us to the promised explanations," Harry finished. "James, what do you know already?"

"Not much," the Gryffindor admitted. "Dad was showing me the family tapestry—you know, it only updates when someone is looking at it—and a line starts getting stitched out from my name . . ."

Ron guffawed. "What, did he think you'd shagged someone and wound up with a kid?"

James grimaced in memory of his dad's reaction. "Actually, that was almost exactly it. He was just about ready to start yelling until he saw the birth date. 'Harry, 1980 to present'. Now, _that_ one threw me for a loop." He laughed slightly.

"And who was the mum?" Peter asked innocently.

Remus was grinning; he seemed to already know. "Let me guess—"

"Yeah, yeah, no need to say it," James said, exasperated. "Just one question. Harry, are you my kid from the future?"

The now slightly older boy grinned back. "Knew you'd figure it out eventually." His expression turned somber. "Now, what do you want to know?"

James was a bit taken aback by Harry's expression, but he couldn't mask his excitement. "How was I, raising you? What are we doing twenty years from now? Do you have any siblings? How was your time at Hogwarts? Why are you so important to Dumbledore? Who else knows?"

Harry held up a hand, unsmiling. "Hold it. Are you sure you really want to know all that? It's not pleasant."

"Yeah, of course I want to know." James was undeterred.

"I'll answer your second question first." Harry turned to face each of them in turn. "Remus Lupin, my third-year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Spy among the werewolves for the Order of the Phoenix."

"Gertrude Granger. Hermione's sister, not magical. I don't know what you're doing, but you're alive. In my reality, your parents didn't die."

"Sirius Black. Died June 21, 1996, fighting Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries. Wrongfully imprisoned in Azkaban for twelve years. Escaped as Padfoot, on the run for a year, then Dumbledore protected you once he found out about your innocence. So far as I know, your name hadn't been cleared when I left." Harry tried hard to keep his voice impartial, but despite his efforts it cracked a few times.

"Aletha Freeman. Alive, so far as I know. In all honesty, I never met you in my time."

"James and Lily Potter." Harry had to stop, take a couple deep breaths. "Died— October 31, 1981, protecting me from Voldemort." Tears in his eyes, he took a minute to regain his composure.

"Rachel Trent. Alive, so far as I know. I've never met you either."

Here Harry paused, not wanting to talk about the Wormtail he had known. James seized the silence to ask a question. "Why did Sirius get thrown in Azkaban?"

Harry didn't answer. _I don't want to answer that, James, don't make me . . . it would only upset you . . ._

James was undeterred, though, and plowed on. "Why don't you want to talk about Peter? He did something bad in your reality, didn't he?"

"You could say that." Harry turned and fixed the rat Animagus with a piercing stare. "Remember, Peter, that it is our choices, not our abilities, that decide our fate. My presence here has changed things, for the better I hope. You are not going to turn into the person you might have—as long as you remember that you have a _choice_. Do you understand?"

Peter nodded, a confused frown in place.

"And the rest of you, you won't blame him for what he _might have_ done?"

Ten more nods. Rachel was the only one who didn't look worried.

Harry finished his narration. "Peter Pettigrew. Alive, I think. Death Eater, my parents' Secret-Keeper, betrayed their whereabouts to Voldemort and framed Sirius for it and the deaths of you and twelve Muggles, lived as Ron's rat for a while, escaped and brought Voldemort back to life in June 1995." He sighed. "God, it sounds awful condensed like that."

Peter was very pale, shaking a bit, by the time Harry finished his description. "It– it _was_ awful, Harry. I can't believe I'd ever do anything like that. Merlin . . ."

Rachel was on him in a second, hugging him, trying to get him to calm down. "Remember what Harry said, Peter? _You've changed._ He KNEW all this about your once future self, and he still saw the differences. Remember what I said when I spoke to you before the first D.A. meeting this year?"

"Guess so," Peter mumbled. Rachel let him go, but still sat right next to him on the sofa.

"Listen, Peter," Harry continued. "I don't blame you for what you haven't done. Just understand if I have a bit of an aversion to the name 'Wormtail'—it's what Voldemort always called you, too."

Peter, still not really trusting himself to speak, just nodded.

Remus, Sirius, and James contributed their own reassurances. James's was most interesting. "Listen, Peter, you really _are_ a lot better than before," he said sincerely. "I'm sorry for what I said four months ago about that—it was shortsighted and mean."

_Wonder what's up with that . . ._

Peter smiled, finally. "Thanks for understanding, guys."

"What I want to know," Lily said, "is what caused the change? What's different between Harry's reality and ours?"

Peter shrugged. "How would I know?"

Lily looked at Harry expectantly. "Any ideas?"

"You'd be looking for something that happened after August 11," Harry said. "Even if it seems completely unconnected."

Peter thought for a minute. "Wait— my dad, who turned out to be a Death Eater, was killed on the eighteenth. It made me reconsider a lot. Are you saying that didn't happen in your timeline?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "To the best of my knowledge, no. And if your dad _was_ a Death Eater, he might've forced you into it . . . That seems to explain it."

Danger spoke up in a very small voice. "And my parents?" Her face was slightly red.

_Merlin, what do I say to her?_ "Danger, I—" He broke off, uncertain.

Thankfully, Hermione was better at this sort of thing than he was. "Listen, Danger, I know how you feel. It was a shock to me too. But really, you can't blame Harry for this. There's nothing he could've done; it is Not His Fault." Her voice was comforting yet vehement. "Muggles study something called chaos theory; a really small initial change can cause huge "ripples", like this. I think it's called the butterfly effect, if you want to read something about it."

"Thanks, Hermione. And Harry— I don't blame you; it just was a bit of a surprise, I guess . . ."

"It's fine. Now, I brought my Pensieve because I have a bunch to show you. Remember, all of this stays secret."

And so Harry went on to show what had happened with the Philosopher's Stone, in the Chamber of Secrets, with Sirius and Peter in the Shrieking Shack, in the graveyard with Wormtail and Voldemort, in the Department of Mysteries and afterwards . . .

The prophecy left eight people gaping in shock. "You're the only one who can defeat— him?" Aletha squeaked.

"Yeah, in this time too. Dumbledore interviewed Trelawney over Christmas break, same thing happened." He played the second prophecy for them as well.

"So we're the eleven?" Lily asked after Trelawney receded back into her bowl of mists.

"Seems like it," Harry said, smiling.

"This is a little much to take in at once, guys," Aletha said. "I can tell you have more, Harry, but could you let it wait until next den-night?"

Harry nodded. "Sure thing. Now, let's see . . . Peter, care to teach Rachel a certain skill you possess?" Sirius laughed and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "No, not _that_ skill, Padfoot, you dolt!" Harry clarified, a bit red-faced. "I meant Animagus!"

Peter blushed. "Rachel, would you like to learn?"

"I'd love to."

He nodded and began to explain. "Well, first, you get a mirror and cast the scrying spell, it's _Revelaro Animalis_ . . ."

* * *

Sunday a week and a half later, the eleven Gryffindor friends could be found doing what some of them hated the most.

Homework.

"I swear, N.E.W.T.s are worse than the O.W.L.s were," Ron grumbled as he rolled up an essay for Potions. "I've still got Transfiguration _and_ Defense left; that Johnson bloke's a horrible teacher, but I'll grant he knows how to assign stuff."

Aletha gulped melodramatically. "There's a year _worse_ than this one? I'm suddenly not quite so excited about getting all those N.E.W.T.s for my Healer training . . ."

Danger smacked her lightly on the shoulder. "Don't mind Aletha," she said lightly. "She finds any academic endeavor to be trying."

"There's some of _those_ in every group." Hermione rolled her eyes and allowed them to rest on Ron.

Ron noticed. "Hey! I'm working!"

"Yeah, because you've got three essays due tomorrow—"

"At least I'm getting them done!"

Harry leaned over and stage-whispered to Remus. "Remind you of anyone?"

He gave an odd cough remniscent of "_SiriandLetha_!" and returned to staring at the fireplace in silent enjoyment of just being with his friends.

James and Sirius were sitting in two of the best chairs by the fire, poring over something the latter boy had written. "What's this for, Padfoot?" James asked.

"Oh, just a Transfiguration paper, _Prongs_."

"You mean the one we got assigned the other day, where we get to choose the topic ourselves? I think I'm going to do mine on human-to-animal Transfiguration, with an emphasis on flying mammals; it might be nice to get someone to take the hint and just turn Snape into a bat . . . That's not due for weeks, though. Why're you working on it now?"

Sirius, who had chuckled at the bat comment, shrugged. "Felt inspired, I guess, _Prongs_."

"Why do you keep— _oh_. Don't get too obvious, though, _Padfoot_."

"Are you kidding me? This is our perfect opportunity to impress McGonagall for once! She'll never see it coming from me. Here, want to see what I've written so far?"

James took the paper with a nod. His eyes flicked from left to right as he skimmed what Sirius had written. "Nice description of the process, how to write your incantation, things that can go wrong—Merlin, you just _had_ to put that in there, didn't you?"

"Oh, do tell," teased Lily, who was sitting nearby.

James sighed and blushed slightly, but didn't try to evade the question. "'There are many ways in which the Animagus transformation can go awry,'" he read. "Didn't even know you knew that word, Padfoot. 'Most of the individual body part transformation spells will simply fail to work if mispronounced or miscast, but the final incantation must be cast perfectly; because of its complexity in tying together so many disparate parts, it can fail in strange and often entertaining ways. In addition to the well-known danger of becoming stuck in animal form (permanent unless someone is nearby to reverse it), this writer knows of at least one stag Animagus who mispronounced a word in the middle of his incantation and wound up with antlers above his ears and a fur coat from chest to knees . . .'"

Everyone who was listening laughed uproariously. "Oh, stop it," James said, red-faced. "It was an honest mistake, okay?"

Lily managed to stop laughing for a moment. "Mark of a gentleman," she said primly. "Able to laugh at his own embarrassment." She broke out in peals of laughter again, and this time, James joined in.

A couple of hours later, the common room was much more empty, and even the Marauders had finished their work for tomorrow. Hermione, Danger, and Lily all had their noses in a book, and most of the others were just sitting in silence. At one of the oak tables, a few nameless students scratched out the last of their work.

Remus, for his part, stared at the roaring Gryffindor fireplace, thinking about the wonderful events of the past few months. _I am so, so lucky,_ he realized. _Eleven people who care about me, who trust me . . . who would die for me. And I would do the same for them._

That level of devotion was almost frightening for someone who had been a lone wolf for sixteen and a half years of his life.

_Altogether, though, I'm happier than I've ever been. A wolf needs his pack._

A very well-known voice sounded in Remus's mind. **Actually, I rather like that name.**

Remus almost fell out of his chair in surprise. **What? Huh?**

**You were thinking too loudly, love,** Danger said with a mental snicker.

**Guess so. What did you mean, though?**

**That name. Us. The Pack. Twelve people, bound by friendship and love . . . it seems fitting.**

**Fit it does. We can bring it up next den-night. In the meantime, I'm a bit worried. Everything seems so peaceful lately—the war's going on, sure, and we hear about it, but for _us_, life is good. I can't help but notice the unusual lack of danger in my life . . .**

Danger laughed out loud. **Oh, I'm sure that can be rectified,** she teased.

**You knew what I meant.**

**Of course I did. But with an opening like that, I'm not supposed to take advantage?**

**Oh, you—** Remus, staring at the fire, blinked. It had just jumped up for a second, and seemed to be continuing to do so, in some sort of pattern. **Notice anything about the fire?**

Danger looked, and noticed it too. **It almost looks like Morse code, but that's—**

**Morse code? What's that?** Remus was treated to a series of mental images relating to the dots-and-dashes code developed by Samuel Morse for communication, connected with the fact that Danger had learned it a year or so ago 'for fun' . . .

Danger mentally gasped. **It _is_ Morse code. And it's saying something.**

**What, then?**

"**I am bored."**

**How in Merlin's name—**

Danger cut him off. **Remember the Hogwarts Founders? Godric's heirs could wandlessly control fire.**

**Well, _that_'s certainly interesting.** Remus looked around the room surreptitiously. Someone _in this room_ was the Heir of Gryffindor. Over seventeen, probably just over, experimenting, and as the message said, _bored_ . . .

James Potter was smiling and tapping his foot in time with the message.

"Prongs?"

James turned around and the fire settled back down. "What is it, Moony?"

"Where did you learn Morse code?"

"Dad taught me one summer when I had nothing to do, a couple of years ago. Why?" James said easily, but he flashed a series of Marauder signs as he did so: act normal, talk later, and one that could be politely translated as, Oh, bollocks.

"Oh, no reason." Remus blinked twice, hard, and glanced up the boys' staircase. "Just curious."

James yawned theatrically. "I think I'm going to head to bed. Night, everyone."

"Me too," Remus said. "Early classes tomorrow, you know. Good night."

As he walked up to the sixth-years' dormitory, he could have sworn he heard Hermione shrill, "Look at the time! I'd better be off too. Good night."

_She'll never change, that one._

**Oh, Danger? Do you remember that prophecy you said about the entrance to the Den?**

Danger thought for a moment. **I don't remember saying it, but Harry told me I did. "Remember, by the place of your father's servant, to thank the one from whom your gift descends."**

'_Thank you, Godric,' indeed. Thus confirming my suspicions._

They stepped inside the dormitory; Remus closed the door and sent a series of sealing spells at it. "All right, James, I think I've figured it out. You're Gryffindor's Heir, aren't you?"

In response, James held out his hand and made a ball of fire appear in it. "Dad told me on my birthday," he explained, fidgeting. "He also said to keep it quiet. I can't believe I was so careless—"

"Relax, Prongs. I won't tell anyone you don't want me to. We _all_ have plenty of secrets."

Danger spoke up. **Harry's his son. His powers are bound. Shouldn't James be doing something about that?**

**Didn't think of that.** Remus looked sharply at James. "Do you remember what your dad did to unlock it?"

"Yeah, he said something about me needing to remember for my kids. But why would I— _oh_."

"Yes, I think Harry would appreciate that quite a lot. Now, if you want everyone to know, you can do it next den-night. If not, just find Harry and a classroom somewhere. The Map could probably help with that."

James nodded slowly. "I'm just rather reluctant to tell _anyone_; I believe the way my dad put it was, 'If you trust them with your life, you can trust them with this.'"

"And do you?" Remus asked quietly, so quietly James wasn't sure he heard.

The messy-haired boy thought for a few minutes. The Marauders, he had trusted fully for years now. Harry— Harry was his son, for Merlin's sake, and Harry's friends had gone through a whole lot more than his own. Danger's bond meant she would know anyway, Rachel was so straightforward he didn't see how he couldn't _not_ trust her, Aletha had proven herself to be stubborn and strong-willed but a true friend nonetheless . . .

And, if James was going to be honest with himself, he was really, truly falling in love with Lily Evans.

"Yes," he said solemnly. "I do. I'll tell everyone."

_It's a nice feeling, isn't it?_

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, a flash of flame heralded a handwritten note next to Harry's plate. He picked it up and read it quickly. "James?" he asked. "Are you free tonight?"

"Sure, why?"

"Note from Dumbledore. He wants you to come to his office at seven o'clock tonight with me." Harry didn't mention the Occlumency lesson that would normally be occurring around that time; he didn't want to confuse James any more than necessary.

Ron, it appeared, had no such qualms. "What about your lesson, Harry?"

"What lesson?" James asked, curious.

"Occlumency," Harry said. "Art of defending the mind from external penetration. Dumbledore thinks it'll help with this." He pointed to his scar.

"Hey, at least the person teaching you is free of any greasy hair."

Harry laughed at this oblique way of putting it. "Yeah. I've already had one lesson. Professor Greasy had been teaching it completely wrong, apparently—no surprises there." The past Monday, Dumbledore had done nothing more than help Harry learn how to organize his mind for over an hour. One's mental 'walls' were naturally quite flimsy, but there was a set of exercises one could do to strengthen them to at least notice an attack, and ways to further protect important memories beyond that . . . It was mostly a matter of concentration and discipline—the exercises had to be done each night before going to bed—and, if taught competently, was not particularly challenging to the movitvated student. _And there's hardly a motivation better than keeping the worst Dark Lord in recent memory out of your head._ Even with only a week's experience, Harry was feeling much more comfortable about controlling his connection to Voldemort.

That night, father and son walked to the gargoyle in silence.

"Cockroach Cluster!" Harry called.

The gargoyle stepped aside, revealing the moving stone staircase behind. "After you," James said, a tad nervously.

"Oh, don't be so nervous. Dumbledore actually _likes_ pranks sometimes, you know." James looked ecstatic and shocked at the very thought. They ascended the staircase, and Harry rapped on the door to Dumbledore's office.

"Come in, Messrs. Potter."

They did so.

"Ah, hello. Harry, we will get to your lesson in just a few minutes, but I thought you should be here for this."

Harry nodded in silence. He had a strong suspicion of what was about to happen, but with Dumbledore, anything was possible.

"As for why I have called you here, James, I felt the castle's magic being tapped last night—something that could only have been done by a blood Heir of one of the Founders. I was at first confused, as to the best of my knowledge none currently attend Hogwarts . . . until I remembered a peculiar spell your father had asked me for help with when you were born. Are my suspicions correct?"

Looking slightly stricken, James nodded. "Yes, sir. Dad told me on my birthday over Christmas holidays." He held out his hand, creating a ball of flame in it; apparently, this was quickly becoming the _de facto_ wordless Heirship explanation.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled brightly. "May the gift serve you well all your life." He cleared his throat. "Incidentally, it gives you a special connection to the magic of the castle—which is no pittance—but the connection works best when you're in Hogsmeade or closer. Without it, using your power on a large scale will probably tire you greatly. And, as you already know, I can tell when the castle's magic is tapped." Dumbledore held out his hand, and James shook it, still a bit dazed. "Welcome home, James Potter, lion's son."

James smiled. "Thank you, Professor." Dumbledore nodded in a clear dismissal, and James left the room.

Harry, who had been gaping at the two as they spoke, blinked a few times and cleared his throat. "Professor, does that mean I'm—"

"Indeed it does," Dumbledore responded calmly. "With all your blood relatives dead on your father's side of the family, no one existed in your old timeline to unlock your power. Now that you are here, though, I believe James will be able to help you . . ."

Harry grinned. "Thanks, Professor. I'll be sure to ask him."

"Please do." He extended his hand. "Welcome home, Harry Potter, lion's son."

Harry shook it, smiling a bit bemusedly. "Tradition?"

"Indeed. For, for any Heir, this castle really is home . . . I digress. Have you been performing your Occlumency exercises over the past week?"

"I have, sir." _Without Snape breathing down my neck, it's not nearly as hard._

"Do you feel prepared to attempt to resist a mental intrusion? I shall not press with all my mental might, merely prod your shields a bit."

Harry closed his eyes and mentally filed through his recent memories, placing them behind a wall of flame. _Seems fitting, now that I know._ He reopened his eyes and met the Headmaster's firmly. "I'm ready."

"Thank you, Harry. Three . . . two . . . one . . ."

_I'm actually happy here. If he does get past my shields—which he probably will—he's only going to find good things._

That thought inspired a bit of fervor for Harry. To put it bluntly, he had a lot to live for, and he fully intended to keep it that way.

Harry's mental shields stengthened slightly, almost unconsciously. _Watch out, world. Here I come._

* * *

James leaned back lazily on a replica Gryffindor couch. "Attention, Pack!" he said in a good imitation of a silly announcer voice. "The Marauders have an announcement to make!" (Danger's appellation had stuck; it fit with the sense of kinship they shared, and the fact that fully a third of the twelve were Animagi that would live in packs didn't hurt.)

James, Sirius, and Peter immediately stood at attention, marched exaggeratedly to the table in the middle of the room, and stood on top of it. Moony followed, doing quite a skilled hind-leg walk. He dropped back to all fours in front of the three human Marauders and let out three sharp barks.

To everyone else, this spectacle was new and completely unexpected. Eight people tried desperately to hold in their laughter, but facial expressions gave it away. Lily managed to keep a straight face as she asked, "Do you guys actually do this stuff?"

James took the question gallantly. "Only all the time, my dear lady. Now! We the Marauders of Hogwarts wish to present our latest creation. Countless hours of tireless Charms work have led us to an artifact that we hope to survive generations to come!"

"You're actually capable of 'countless hours of tireless Charms work'?" Aletha asked with a grin.

"Of course, my dear lady," Sirius said. "Even pranksters such as us are capable of serious work."

"Moony did it all, he's trying to say," Peter added in a stage whisper.

Sirius acted as if he hadn't heard. "Without further ado," he proclaimed, whipping a new piece of parchment out of his pocket, "The Marauder's Map!" He held it up for everyone to see.

It was blank.

"Um . . . other side, please?" Lily suggested.

Sirius turned it over. Still blank.

"Er— is this all a big joke or something?"

Harry and his three time-traveling friends had already caught on, of course, and he was also holding up a piece of parchment, though one that looked about twenty years older. All four of them were snickering by now.

Sirius's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Oh, my! I must have forgotten to activate it!" He rapped the parchment with his wand. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

Harry did the same thing, at the same time, to his own parchment, but the eyes of the four girls of this time period were all on the one held by the Marauders. Spiky black lines emitted from the point of Sirius's wand tap, and even from a few feet away the result was clearly visible as a map of Hogwarts. The Marauders bowed as one, jumped off the table, and immediately shed their ridiculous-looking expressions. "You like?" James asked, as Sirius handed the map to Aletha. She nodded appreciatively before handing it on to Lily.

"Wow," the redhead breathed. "This is amazing. The charms this sort of thing would require . . . I'm impressed."

"When we have a reason to exert ourselves, we are, in fact, able to do so," James explained, smiling. "So, Harry, you have the Map from the future?"

"Yep. In my timeline, you lost it to Filch in your seventh year—do be careful about that, guys—and it stayed there until Fred and George Weasley stole it back in 1990. They gave it to me in my third year."

"So we have two Maps. Neat. Is yours the same as ours?"

"I think so, but check it yourself."

James took the map from Harry and held the two side-by-side. "Handwriting's a tad different, but other than that, no changes. Now, want to see what else this thing can do? Mischief managed," he said with a wand tap, and the map cleared itself.

Harry broke into James's train of thought. "Allow me." He took on a faux cold voice with an almost audible sneer and tapped the new Map with his wand. "I, Professor Severus Snape, demand that you reveal your secrets!"

Danger read the map and snorted. "You guys really do know your stuff, I'll grant you that. Of course, I already knew that."

Lily cocked an eyebrow. "And, Harry, how exactly would you know how the map responds to Snape?"

"He caught me with it," Harry said with a sheepish grin. "Coming back from Hogsmeade—he found it in my pocket, and Professor Lupin managed to convince him that it was just a piece of insult-spewing parchment. Then he told me he'd have to keep the map, as he 'knew the manufacturers' and they would want to lure me out of the castle . . ."

Sirius guffawed. "Oh, good one, Moony!"

**Hey, I'm sure I was looking out for his safety!** Remus complained mentally.

**Oh, we're having too much fun to worry about the truth right now. That performance was really spot-on, you know.**

**And completely unrehearsed. We just know each other very well.**

_That_ comment, Danger repeated.

A few minutes of more uncontrolled laughter later, James cleared his throat. "Anyway, I also have a very serious—don't you _dare_, Padfoot—" he added as Sirius opened his mouth— "matter to address. Harry, come here."

Harry did so, sitting in the chair James indicated. He would have loved to ask what was going on, but with James Potter, such a question would probably be futile.

"All right, Harry . . . tradition demands I say something here, so here goes. You're amazing, Harry."

Harry blinked and frowned slightly. "Not really," he said softly. "I just did what needed to be done."

"Oh, shut up and stop being so damn modest," James teased, then regained his serious expression. "You've done a lot of really remarkable things in your life. You've been through so much, and I think it's a small miracle you're still as strong and as good a person as you are. When you intervened between me and Snape on the first day of this year, I acted like a prat. I lashed out at you and tried to prove you were Dark, when any idiot could see the opposite was true.

"I was wrong. I apologize."

This time, Harry wasn't the only one who blinked in surprise. James Potter, apologizing? Sure, he had become more serious since the werewolf incident, but nobody expected anything so drastic as _that_.

"Listen, Harry," he continued earnestly. "Since then, I've realized a lot. There are things more important than pranks, more important than anything that goes on at this school, and they're coming at us faster than we should have any right to expect. And I want to be one of the people who fights them. Not because I want the fame, not because it's what my family's always done, but because it's the right thing to do. I respect you, Harry, more than you'll ever know. I'm incredibly proud of you. I'm with you."

For some reason Harry would never understand, James's statement was echoed by ten more voices, speaking one after the other. The Pack was seated in a rough circle, Harry on James's right, and each one of them looked at Harry in turn and said solemnly, "I'm with you."

Rachel was the last one to speak. "I'm with you, Harry. We all are. There are twelve strong people in this room ready to fight for their beliefs. No matter what happens, don't lose sight of your friends."

Overcome, Harry could do little more than smile. "Thanks, guys," he said emotionally. "You could never know how much this means to me."

"And now, for something I hope will serve you well." James's voice took on the familiar formal overtones as both he and Harry stood up. Placing his hands on Harry's shoulders, James spoke: "By the power within me and the blood we share, I do hereby release any bindings that may be on the power of the line of Godric Gryffindor within you, Harry James Potter, my blood son. I charge you to use this power always for good, never for evil, and to remember that even the very wise cannot see all ends. Receive that power which is rightfully yours."

Harry's expression was inscrutable, but unquestionably content. As the seconds passed, his resolve seemed to visibly stengthen. Finally, he said, "Thank you, James"; the simple words belied the depth of gratitude that he felt. Turning to the group as a whole, he looked each person in the eye and found no fear, no hesitancy, just resolve and determination. "We are Pack now, Pack together," he said solemnly.

"Pack forever," a chorus of voices answered him.

Maybe it was just his imagination, but Harry was sure something had changed as those words were spoken.

_Changed for the better._

* * *

Walking from their last class of the day (Transfiguration) to the common room, James and Lily found themselves deserted by the Marauders and Ginny who had been just a minute ago walking alongside them.

Right after Ginny had skillfully maneuvered the conversation to next weekend's Hogsmeade visit.

Completely unbeknownst to Lily, James was having an internal debate at the moment. _I want to ask her, but I shouldn't . . . we're great friends now, I don't want to ruin that . . . she's not interested in me that way, she's made herself abundantly clear . . ._

Completely unbeknownst to James, Lily was having similar thoughts.

An uncomfortable silence descended. After a minute or so, James broke it. "So, what are you planning on doing in Hogsmeade?" _Merlin, that sounds bad even to me._

Lily shrugged. "Oh, nothing much," she said. "I don't have a date, if that's what you're asking."

"No, I didn't mean it that way! I was just . . . yeah."

"Oh." _Is that . . . disappointment?_

More silence. Only two flights of stairs left. _Now or never,_ James thought, gathering up the vaunted Gryffindor courage that had fled to the South Pole not too long ago. "Er, Lily, do you want to go with me?"

She stopped walking.

James hastened to explain. "Listen, we've gotten to be good friends lately, and I know I promised I wouldn't ask you out so often anymore, but I just wanted to try—if you just want to go as friends that's fine too, I understand—" Lily was saying something, but the sound was getting garbled somewhere between his ears and his brain. "I was just hoping—"

"James," Lily said, almost laughing. "JAMES!"

He snapped out of his rambling. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. James's heart sank when he saw the expression on Lily's face. _She's laughing at me, I know it . . . damn it, Prongs, why'd you have to go and mess everything up . . ._

"James," Lily repeated. "I. Said. Yes."

"Oh."

Lily wasn't able to hold in her laughter anymore, and James soon followed suit. _Merlin, but that _was_ funny. The great James Potter, fumbling over asking a girl for a date._

When they had both calmed down, Lily used exactly those words. "I'd been wondering how long it'd take you to stop dancing around me and finally _ask_," she said, shaking her head with a smile. "The way you finally did was just priceless."

"Finally?"

"Yes, finally, you prat. I've been waiting, oh, since Christmas break or so. I swear, men never understand the first thing about relationships until they get hit over the head by one."

"I guess." He laughed. "Really, though, I just wanted to avoid ruining our friendship."

Lily smiled brightly. "And _that_ is why I said yes. The old James Potter wouldn't've even _had_ a friendship with me. As for ruining it? Never. You've merely . . . augmented it, shall we say."

Hand in hand, they returned to Gryffindor Tower smiling.

* * *

James and Lily's Hogsmeade date went wonderfully. They spent a good deal of their time in the Three Broomsticks with the rest of the Pack, though James gave Lily some time in Gladrag's, and Lily let James run amok in Zonko's.

"Nothing short of a miracle," was Sirius's opinion when he heard.

It wasn't all fun and games, though. As the sky began to darken and students began to head back, James took Lily to the Shrieking Shack. They stared at it in silence for a bit.

"The villagers are wondering why they never hear sound from inside anymore," Lily said idly. "Haven't for four months."

"And you know exactly why." James sighed and gathered his thoughts as both continued to stare at the old, decrepit shack. "Lily . . . listen, I've had a great time today, and it seems like you have too, but I need to know. How do you feel about this?"

"And what 'this' would that be, James Potter?" Even though he couldn't see her face, James was sure he could hear her smile.

He waved his hands aimlessly. "This. Us. Our relationship."

"I think I know what you're getting at." Lily paused. "It's about Harry, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah," James said sheepishly. He knew he should probably say more than that, but he had no clue to express the worry that was going through his mind—that Lily felt obligated to do this because it had worked in some alternate timeline, because they had produced what was by any account a really great kid. _And then we died before his second birthday._

Intentionally or not, Harry changed everything.

"Look at me, James." Lily's voice was soft, comforting, but with a hint of firmness to it. James turned his head and did as he was told. Lily stared right back at him, a smile visible in both her mouth and her eyes.

_Harry's eyes . . . his mother's eyes . . ._

James needn't have worried; Lily understood the situation just fine without him saying anything. "James," she began, "I _know_ Harry's existence complicates things. You're worried I feel forced into this, aren't you?"

Unsure of what to say, the hazel-eyed boy just nodded.

Lily fixed him with, if possible, an even more piercing gaze—and yet a softer one, too. "I don't, James. Harry's presence has only accelerated our relationship."

James finally found his voice. "How d'you figure _that_ one?"

"Because he forced you to stop being a prat, of course." They both laughed.

Laughs dissolved into smiles, and Lily continued. "Seriously, though, James . . . you're a wonderful person in your own right, and that doesn't have anything to do with Harry. If you had managed to lose your prattitude without him, I'm sure we'd still be here." Her voice dropped. "And for the record, I see no reason why at least a few of the things Harry remembers can't still come true."

_Is she . . ._

"Thanks, Lily," James said sincerely. He smiled, and continued without thinking. "Another one of the reasons I love you so much."

Lily made a small noise in the back of her throat.

_Merlin, did I say that out loud?_ James blushed. "Er, Lily, I—"

She cut him off. "Did you mean what you said?" she asked in a forceful whisper.

James searched her face. There was no hint of anger there, just . . . curiosity—no, something more than that. "Yes, I did."

Lily relaxed and beamed at him. "Merlin. I don't know how many times I've told the girls in my dorm that I'd _never_ say this, but James Potter, I love you too."

"And I never, _ever_ thought I'd hear you say those words."

_I've dreamed about this so much, especially since Harry got here, and now—it's actually happening, and it's even better than I thought._

Lily fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Aren't you forgetting something, James?" she asked coyly.

They kissed.

_Scratch that. _Way_ better._

* * *

As always, Lily Evans read the _Daily Prophet_ over breakfast. Today, though, something was different.

"Oh my God. Have you guys seen this?" she asked, clearly upset, holding out the paper with a shaking hand.

Puzzled, Harry took the proferred paper and read bits of the front-page article aloud. "Death Toll Becomes Known . . . Merlin. 'The Minstry of Magic released the names today showing the sum total of wizards killed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to date . . . list numbered over a hundred . . .'" He set the paper down and sighed heavily. "It's bad. Even worse than I remember. But we can't lose hope. We _can't_." He sounded almost as if he was trying to convince himself.

"What can we do, though?" Lily asked in a very small voice. "Even Dumbledore hasn't been able to kill him . . ."

It was James who answered, vehemently and bracingly. "You know the answer to that question, Lily," he said. "You've heard the prophecy. As for what we do—we stick together." He placed both his hands out on the table, and one by one the members of the Pack grabbed one or the other. "We may not be able to stand alone, but we have something Voldemort will never have. We have each other." He looked around the table at each of them. "Never forget that, Lily. Or any of you. Pack _together_."

"Pack forever," eleven voices answered him softly.

* * *

One day in March, Hermione came barreling into the common room, waving a sheet of crinkly old parchment excitedly and shouting, "I found it! I found it!" Ignoring the various odd looks she was receiving, she ran straight to Ron and Harry and thrust the piece of parchment directly in front of them.

Harry took it and read the ornately scripted text. _The potion known as Darkness' Door forms a nearly impenetrable barrier to protect an object. A bright, glowing green in color, its surface may not be broken by any means, magical or physical, save that of the goblet of one attempting to drink it. Such a drinker would fall to dementia, extreme thirst, and ultimately death. Only the person who set the potion may dispel its protections, using the incantation _creperum ostium exemo

He looked up at a beaming Hermione. "Hermione, you're brilliant!" he enthused. "Found this in the Restricted Section?"

"Yeah, wedged into Moste Potente Potions. Dumbledore gave me permission."

Harry's voice dropped, and he forced himself to keep in mind his surroundings. "Do you think that was the potion in the cave?" Hermione nodded; Harry continued to speak, softly. "I think that's where Lestrange hid the You-Know-What last time, too—she seems the type to boast to Reggie, and that's probably how he found out—so it should be there again, since Lord Snakey tasked her with hiding it this time too. But then how would we get it? We couldn't exactly get him to cooperate in his own downfall . . ."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "That's why I'm so excited," she said breathlessly. "Remember what the prophecy said? About, er, the mark? I think I've figured something out about it."

"Yeah?" _'And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal.'_ "I'm not seeing the connection."

"Think about it, Harry. 'An equal' . . . you're not as powerful as him, _he_ sure doesn't think you're an equal—what if it means you _appear_ as one, for spells and such?"

"Blimey, Hermione, you're good," Ron said wondrously. "What do you think, Harry?"

"It's the best idea we've got." Harry frowned. "I can't help but feel like it's too easy, though . . ."

"Too easy?" Ron was incredulous. "_Too easy?_ Merlin, Harry, take what you can get. Didn't Dumbledore say something about you having 'uniquely deadly weapons' or something?"

"I'm impressed, Ron," Hermione said, deadpan. "Exactly what I was going to say." She turned to Harry, and her voice became more sincere. "Ron's right. This only works because of your connection. If you still think it's 'too easy', please remember no one else could do it . . ."

Harry sighed and acquiesced. "All right, it's worth a try, I guess. But let's wait until summer to try and get it out—if we left during Easter break, we'd be noticed."

_One found, four to go._

* * *

Over Easter break, most people would stay at Hogwarts, studying for the impending exams and completing the requisite mountains of homework assigned over the break. Maybe, if they were lucky, they would have a chance to enjoy themselves.

In this respect, the Pack qualified as 'most people', especially when five of them were preparing for O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Severus Snape, unfortunately for him, was not.

"Good to see you, Severus," his grandfather greeted him stiffly as he walked into the stuffy old manor house. The man's name was Matthias, but nobody other than his own wife (Zenadia, his grandmother—_and a meaner old hag I've yet to see_) called him that. To Severus, he was always "Grandfather," a stern old man who professed to have his bests interests at heart when nothing of the sort was true.

"You as well, Grandfather." The Princes placed a high value on formal speech.

_I can't believe I'm living with them,_ Snape thought for not the first time. He again mentally went over his reasons for doing so: _they're family, they're filthy rich and don't mind caring for me, I don't want to turn my life over to the fools in the Ministry . . ._

But, as had been happening lately, each of these reasons was matched by a counterpoint. _What does family matter if they hate me? What do riches matter if they use them to indebt me? And might even the Ministry be better than this?_

_I am seventeen years old. I have been for three months. I should not have to live here._

_But I don't have anywhere to go._

_Patience, Severus, patience,_ he reminded himself. _In time, you'll get out._

_I hope._

Grandmother walked out of the sitting room and shook his hand stiffly, releasing it as soon as possible. "Have you been doing well at school, Severus?"

"Yes, Grandmother." _As if she cares. Probably just an excuse to make some bigoted comment._

Snape's hunch was proven correct. "It's a wonder you turned out as well as you did," the old lady muttered, though quite loud enough for Snape to hear. "Between your blood-traitor mother and your lout of a Muggle father, I'd have thought you destined for a paper-pushing _job_ for sure . . . at least _those_ influences are gone now . . ."

Snape pretended to listen, allowing the hag to finish her long-winded rant, saying, "Yes, Grandmother," in all the appropriate places. It stung less if he didn't allow himself to comprehend the words flowing from her gnarled old mouth.

Finally, she finished. ". . . Don't you agree, Severus?"

"Of course, Grandmother." _I agree that you're a righteous, bigoted old hag who will never change her ways and cares for me for no reason other than for the possibility of my conversion to your ridiculous ideals. It's easier just to pretend to agree._

_She thinks being a Prince makes you royalty._

_Ironic, that._

"Oh, dear, I'm so glad you agree."

_'Dear'? That's a new one. She must be really happy._

"I knew there was a reason you responded to our summons so quickly," she gushed. (Snape suppressed a snort with difficulty; _not_ doing so would have been foolishness even beyond the capacity of those idiotic Gryffindors.)

Snape's grandfather stepped back into the conversation. "Come with me, Severus," he said with unprecedented pleasure. "I am incredibly proud of you, you realize. Your actions bring honor to yourself and your family."

_What in Merlin's name is he spouting off about?_

Matthias continued in this fashion for the few-minute walk to Prince Manor's Apparation point, never actually saying _what_ Snape was doing to bring this 'honor'.

Patroclus Nott, a seventh-year Slytherin who had taunted and injured Snape on numerous occasions, and Lucius Malfoy, five years out of school and still revered by most of his House, were waiting for him.

"I had thought you might take a bit of convincing, but by your grandfather's expression all is well," Nott said genially.

_Slytherins . . . stabbing you one day, healing you the next._

"We will be Apparating to an Unplottable and warded location," Malfoy said smoothly in his best aristocratic tones. "Please grip my left arm, Snape."

Highly conscious of his grandfather's eyes on him—there was no backing out now—Snape did as he was told. _Unplottable location? What the hell is going on here?_

_I have a very bad feeling about this._

"Thank you, Mr. Prince," Malfoy said, and with that, they were squeezing through an impossibly narrow tube, the familiarly uncomfortable sensation of Apparation—

They landed in a dark, Dark room lit only by torches. The magic emanating from the very atmosphere here was quite apparent, and not at all good. Familiar, though . . . the addicting feeling of Dark magic, in quantities Snape had never been exposed to, despite his fascination for the subject . . .

Malfoy was speaking. "The Dark Lord is closeted behind those doors." He didn't need to say which ones; there was only one set of doors in the room, huge, made of blackest obsidian carved with serpents. "For reasons I cannot fully comprehend, he has shown a degree of . . . _interest_ in you. You will show him the respect he deserves, even if you should disagree with something he says. Go," he said, turning with a swish of his robes. "The Dark Lord awaits."

And with that, Lucius Malfoy Disapparated with a _pop_.

Intellectually, Snape _knew_ he would be getting in over his head. He should just Disapparate now and save himself while he could. The Dark Lord was vicious, everyone said, even his most loyal followers. He was merciless and demanded instant obedience. Not to mention the most obvious point—he was _evil_.

But also, there were words spoken in Slytherin—for, as the most ambitious of the Houses, Slytherin was also the most Dark—of the Dark Lord's power, the sheer volume of it; he could overpower any wizard, they said, even the 'great' Albus Dumbledore. And the paths he opened for his loyal followers . . . learning, power, and opportunities to _use_ that power . . .

Dumbledore's words of caution and restraint flitted into Snape's mind, but they were oddly muffled by the presence of the room. _All that is Dark is not evil,_ the old Headmaster had said, but the old fool had taken it for granted that everyone already knew what 'good' and 'evil' were. . . . Why should he _take care not to lose himself in its depths_ when it was these depths that Snape was feeling now, and it was a more invigorating presence than any he had ever experienced?

Logically, a part of Snape's mind, one of his last vestiges of untouched reason, realized this warped attitude was a function of the room's atmosphere, of some aspect of the innate Darkness in it . . . but another, much larger part didn't care, and quickly subsumed the first. _What do the circumstances matter?_ he thought savagely. _I now know _real_ power. I have felt it, and I choose to place myself where I will be near to it!_

His mind made up, Severus Snape walked through the carved black doors and into the audience of the Dark Lord. The feeling as he passed directly under the doorframe, under the apex of Dark magic in the area, could only be described as intoxicating.

After a bit of perfunctory conversation, Snape was initiated and tasked with his first mission. He fervently pledged his loyalty to the Dark Lord, not really thinking about the fact that this was for life, that what he was doing was wrong and he knew it; he only knew he had experienced real power for the first time in his life, and would do anything to remain close to it. He was Marked by the Dark Lord personally.

It hurt like a bitch, but he didn't care.

* * *

During den-night on April 3, Hermione successfully completed her head transfiguration.

"I'm done," she said, smiling, and received her fair share of congratulations; of the rest of them, Harry was closest to completion, and he hadn't even started on his head transformation. "Now I just have to write my final incantation, make that potion, and drink it."

"You never cease to amaze me, Hermione," Ron said. "Animagus in six months, honestly!"

"Why, thank you, Ron. Do we know anything about the potion?" Hermione looked at Lily; she was by any account the best potioneer in the group.

"It takes three months to brew," she said, and Hermione's heart sank slightly. "Let me just go get something . . ." Lily kept a practiced innocent expression as she disappeared into the library, and Hermione saw nothing out of the ordinary. _Probably just trying to find the book or something._

When she emerged, though, she was holding a steaming goblet and sprinkling some sort of powder into it. Smiling widely, she addressed Hermione. "Bottoms up. You've got ten minutes before it goes bad. Wait for it to cool first, I'd say," she added hastily as she saw Hermione bouncing up and down slightly, looking at the goblet eagerly.

"Oh— how did you—"

"Finish it so quickly?" Lily finished with a wry grin. "Simple. I started right after the holidays. Apparently there's a room off the library that works great as a Potions lab . . . nothing elaborate, but enough to work. One ingredient per day for nine days, then let it boil for three months. Simple enough."

Danger narrowed her eyes in mock annoyance. "And would the ninth ingredient have anything to do with my propensity for coughing that whole day? I swear, I couldn't take three steps in Gryffindor Tower without wanting to sneeze."

Lily shrugged. "Guess you're allergic to powdered wolf claw, then. Sorry about that. Hermione, I think it should be cool enough now."

Hermione downed her goblet in four long gulps, then threw it to the ground in disgust and shuddered. "Ugh, it tastes horrible," she complained. "Vinegar, salt, something bitter . . . _ugh._"

"And the taste remains for a few days," Sirius added pointedly. Hermione grimaced.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" James said. "The book we used for the final incantation is at the bottom of the pile, now get to work!"

"Of course, Professor Potter," she responded primly. For some reason, this made Harry snort with laughter.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Sirius's eye was caught by something Aletha was wearing. "Say, Aletha," he asked curiously, "what's that?"

"Huh? What?" Aletha followed his gaze to— "Oh, that brooch. It's nice, don't you think? My mum gave it to me for Christmas." The brooch was small, wrought in gold in the shape of a stylized bird of prey whose one visible eye contained a sapphire chip.

Something in this conversation piqued Hermione's curiosity. She looked up from her book—and gasped when she saw the brooch. "That's the Ravenclaw brooch!"

"_What?_" several voices asked.

"That brooch belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw," she repeated. "I saw a description of it in _Legacy of the Founders_."

Aletha's mouth was hanging open in shock. "Wh– what does that mean?"

"Well, you might be a Ravenclaw Heir. One of her daughters was a Squib, you know. Or your family might have received it from someone else a while back—remember Hepzibah and the Slytherin locket?"

"Yeah," Aletha said. "Yeah, that makes sense." She seized on the second explanation, completely discounting the first. _It's more likely, after all,_ she rationalized, but she knew there was a deeper reason . . .

One of the things Hermione had mentioned caught up with her. "Wait—could this thing be a Horcrux?" Harry had explained Voldemort's immortality during the February den-night, and the implications had certainly been frightening.

Harry frowned. "I don't think so, but there's only one way to find out. Give it to me?" Aletha unclasped the brooch and handed it over. Harry pointed his wand at it, concentrated, and cast, "_Prior Incanto!_"

Nothing happened.

"You're clear," he said as he returned the brooch. "And it's definitely quite the heirloom you've got."

"Why, thank you."

"Definitely beats mine," Sirius muttered. "For my birthday, _dear_ Mother sent me an heirloom ring." He held it up; it had an ornate letter _B_ inlaid in a black stone, set on a gleaming silver band.

"But didn't they disown you?" Peter asked, puzzled.

Sirius snorted. "Of course they did, but that doesn't mean they'd ignore tradition. _Everyone_ in the old families gets an heirloom ring at seventeen. And it wasn't as if it cost anything; I think there's a whole box of them in the Black vault."

"Why are you keeping it, if you hate your family so much?" Aletha was, as usual, blunt.

"Not all of them are bad," Sirius said softly. "Like my cousin Andie, she's a Healer, and her little three-year-old Nymphadora—let me tell you, she is going to have _serious_ teenage rebellion issues with that name. They're the only family who sent me a Christmas present; they even offered to have me over this summer. Of course, _she_ got disowned too, for marrying a Muggle-born." He shook his head ruefully. "Merlin, my family is screwed up. And then there's my Uncle Alphard, who wrote me just a few days ago saying he'd lend me some money so I could get a place of my own when I need one. I guess I'm keeping the ring for them—so I remember that not all the Blacks are bigoted idiots."

Thinking of her own loving family, Aletha realized just how lucky she was.

* * *

Dumbledore was absent for Harry's Occlumency lesson on April 4. The note he left, in typical Dumbledoreian fashion, told Harry a lot without revealing anything at all: he had "_some business outside the castle,_" it said, and he wished to do it when his absence would be less noted. "_And if all goes well, we shall have much to discuss on the eleventh._"

Harry was reasonably sure all had gone well—Dumbledore was at breakfast the next day, after all, and not apparently injured in any way—so it was with a good deal of excitement that Harry approached the gargoyle a week later.

"Cockroach Cluster!"

The gargoyle slid aside, and Harry walked up the moving staircase and knocked, still wondering what had happened.

"Come in, Harry."

Seeing Dumbledore's left hand made everything clear. A very familiar cracked stone adorned a ring on one of its fingers.

Harry gasped. "Professor— that—"

Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling madly. "Yes, Harry, I have indeed found and destroyed the first Horcrux. Marvolo Gaunt's ring was exactly where you remembered me telling you it was, and protected quite well, I might add. I remembered my injury from your sixth year and searched more diligently than usual for curses. The one that had caused it was well-hidden indeed."

"That's great, Professor! How did you destroy it?"

"I shall tell you tonight, but you will need a bit more theory to understand it. Please sit down, Harry; we have much to discuss."

After doing as asked, Harry realized something. "Er— don't we need to work on my Occlumency, sir?"

"No, I think you are progressing quite well on your own. You are not yet a master of the art, certainly, but what you have left to learn will come simply with time. I believe it is time we use these lessons for a different end."

"What's that, sir?" Harry's curiosity was piqued.

Dumbledore sighed. "There is much magic that is not taught at Hogwarts—magic that I believe you will need on your quest. I hope to instruct you in some of it." He paused for a moment. "Harry, as much as I know you may detest the fact, it remains that _you_ will be the one, with the help of your friends, to destroy Tom's Horcruxes."

"Why, Professor? I'll do it, definitely, but is there any reason you couldn't?"

"You and Tom share a particularly rare connection, Harry," the old wizard said measuredly. "In fact, I would not doubt that yours is the only instance of this connection ever known. As he grew older, Lord Voldemort also grew more knowledgeable in obscure areas of magic, and some of his later creations are sure to be protected by magic that can be dispelled only by him. Or so he believes."

"You think I'll be able to do it too?" Harry was disbelieving, but he figured it was best to ask.

"Indeed. 'The power to vanquish the Dark Lord', is it not? The ability to undo that which no one else could?"

Harry frowned. "Hermione thought something similar, but it just seems—I don't know, I just don't like the idea that magic would see me as a clone of Voldemort."

"Would you care for a lemon drop, Harry?"

Shrugging, he took one, and felt slightly calmer having done so. _Calming potion?_

"I am sure the other me has probably told you this at one point or another, but it bears repeating. It is not our abilities that make us who we are; it is our choices. Your ability to, shall we say . . . _masquerade_ as Tom does not make you any less of a good person, Harry. It is simply a skill that you have by virtue of your rather unique circumstances, one which will most likely benefit you greatly."

Finally, Harry smiled. "Thanks for the reminder, Professor. I'll keep what you said in mind. Now, what were you saying about the theory behind destroying a Horcrux?"

Dumbledore sighed and cast his eyes downward; it was clear he was highly reticent to discuss such magic. "A Horcrux is a twisted perversion of nature," he said finally. "The soul is meant to inhabit one particular body; magic which changes this basic tenet, such as a Dementor's Kiss or possession, is very Dark magic indeed. Perhaps the Horcrux is the worst of these; in creating a Horcrux, a wizard binds a part of his soul to an object for eternity. The especial magic of the creation, if you could call it that, is that the soul will _never_ leave the confines of the object—thus keeping it protected."

"How is it possible to destroy one, then?" Harry asked worriedly; from what Dumbledore said, having a Horcrux made a wizard almost invincible.

"Effectively, destroying a Horcrux requires forcing the soul fragment imprisoned within it to implode. The soul is forced to stay inside the object, so if one adds sufficient magic to force it out, it is destroyed." Seeing Harry's puzzlement, he asked, "Can you think of no magic that would force a soul to leave a body? It is a spell you already know of."

Harry's frown deepened as he thought. "The Killing Curse?" he asked after a minute. "Is that how it works?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore said gravely, the ever-present twinkle noticeably absent from his eyes. "Though other methods may sometimes work as well . . . basilisk venom, perhaps . . ." Dumbledore trailed off, and said no more on the subject.

Harry's mind was reeling. _The Killing Curse?_ he thought, horrified. _I have to cast the Killing Curse to destroy one of these things?_

_It's only an object,_ said the more logical part of his mind. _Not a person._

_But still . . . it may be Voldemort's soul, but it's still a soul . . . I'd be _destroying_ it . . ._

Dumbledore changed the subject before Harry could brood too much. "Now, I believe I had mentioned some curse-breaking spells?" he asked, noticeably happier. "The most basic one simply detects whether an object is cursed, and if so, how; it is slightly more flexible than _Prior Incanto_ in that it uses color to show _any_ enchantments on an object, not just the most recent. The incantation is . . ."

* * *

Saturday, April 30, was the last Hogsmeade weekend of term. Four Gryffindor couples gathered in the common room, along with Peter (who was going with Rachel) and Sirius and Aletha (who were determinedly not looking at each other). As they were about to head out around nine o'clock A.M., the time most of the stores opened in the village, Danger remembered something.

"Pack!" Ten heads turned. "I had another dream last night. I only remember a bit of it, but I think we need to each bring something meaningful—sentimental, whatever—to Hogsmeade today."

"Why?" Ron asked.

Danger grimaced. "I have no idea, can't remember, but somehow I've got a bad feeling about this. Just do it, please."

Nodding, Ron, Ginny, and Remus ran up to their dormitories. Everyone else already had something with them. Looking closely, Danger noticed thin chains around several necks, and Aletha wearing her brooch . . .

The three came back down, and they were off to Hogsmeade. They met up with Rachel in the Great Hall—Danger noticed a similar chain around her neck as well—and, after being duly prodded by Filch's Secrecy Sensor, were walking down the road to High Street and the Three Broomsticks.

For the first time, all twelve of the Pack sat around one large table and simply enjoyed each other's company. They chatted of inconsequential things—school, lives, careers. By unspoken consent, none of them discussed the war. Today was to be a day to get away from it all, the first one all of them had ever really had.

Unfortunately, what is to be rarely comes to pass.

Suddenly, Danger slumped in her chair, asleep. Remus's eyes swirled with brown and widened before he closed them to concentrate. "She's having a prophecy . . . Don't wake her, please."

As Danger heard, Remus spoke, and the world got a little colder.

_"The time of testing comes apace,  
A time when every wolf must face  
The greatest fear or dread she knows  
And choose to fight for love his foes.  
The lion-hearted wolf will find  
Unwavering call to realm of mind  
Unknown to all, yet home for three  
A choice to make, forever be.  
The others must defend the right  
And find their strength and choose to fight  
Each one his own; whatever may,  
The dark will find you all this day.  
But first that magic must be done  
Which takes the twelve and makes them one—  
Take that which circles blood and flesh,  
Yet has no bottom. Make it mesh  
With blood from each, and then recite  
The oath the warrior knows to write  
Which long ago was sworn by they  
Whose hearts beat true in you today;  
The singing of the fire's bird  
Shall help remember what she heard.  
The testing time does quickly near;  
It lies in you to conquer fear,  
O lynx of lion true; so call  
The wanderer home to save you all.  
The eagle-hearted truth must give  
The star the sound to help him live  
And feathers red command his own  
So prove to you from yours you've grown.  
If then this night you can endure,  
Upon the morrow it is sure  
You'll find each other, find your Den,  
And each one live to fight again."_

Remus and Danger's eyes snapped open, Danger's with a half-stifled scream.

"What did that _mean_?" Ron asked, wide-eyed. "It didn't make any sense to me."

"I don't know," Danger said shakily, "but it didn't seem good. I guess we could write it down and try to figure it out, but I've never had one hit while I'm awake before—I think it's urgent, don't know if we'll have time . . ."

A voice shrieked from outside the pub. "Death Eaters! In the village!"

And the spine-deep coldness they were beginning to feel was seeming less and less like any sort of odd weather by the moment . . .

Ron characterized the situation with three emotive words. Hermione didn't even scold him.

* * *

(A/N: Yes, I'm quite evil. Leaving you with a nasssty clifffie . . .

Don't hate Snape TOO much. The atmosphere of the room had a _large_ effect on his decision; Voldemort keeps it that way intentionally.

Next chapter: "Don't Look Back," with plenty of action! Coming your way in, oh, about a week or so.)


	9. Don't Look Back

**Chapter 9: Don't Look Back**.

"Death Eaters! In the village!"

The people in the pub were running helter-skelter, bumping into each other, those who tried to run out forced back, or worse . . .

"We need a room," Danger yelled above the din. "Away from all this." She looked around, and her fears were confirmed. "There are at least a dozen Death Eaters guarding the door to this place and AK'ing anyone who comes out. We're trapped—" stricken expressions— "but I think the prophecy is giving us a way out."

James didn't waste any time. He ran up to Madam Rosmerta, pushing his way effortlessly through the throng of people crowding around the bar and firing panicked questions. "Rosie, I need a room, empty is fine, with space for twelve to sit in a circle. Please don't ask questions. I'll explain later."

Driven, perhaps, by the urgent tone that seemed so out of place on the boy, Rosmerta just handed him a key and whispered, "Room seven."

James ran back to the Pack triumphantly. "Come on, room seven, let's go!"

They got to the room, ran inside, and managed to seal the door with all twelve of the Pack, and nobody else, inside. They were wide-eyed with fear, but nevertheless determined to act.

Silence pervaded. James broke it. "Have you figured any of it out yet?"

Danger shook her head rather fiercely in frustration. "No! I swear, I'm sure there's something I'm forgetting, I just can't remember what it is!"

Suddenly, Fawkes appeared in a flash of flame, bearing a tightly furled scroll of parchment.

"It's from Dumbledore!" exclaimed Ron. "I wonder what he has to say?"

Harry took the parchment, unfurled it, and read it aloud. "_I have just heard of the attack in Hogsmeade. I am on my way now, but even I cannot defeat an impasse of Voldemort's most loyal followers in an instant. Please stay safe if you can, but if bloodshed becomes unavoidable, use whatever skills you may have to guard your lives and avoid capture. Whatever happens, remember, I will stand your friend. Godspeed. A.D._"

"This is bad . . ." Sirius muttered. "Dumbledore will be here eventually, but he has to fight his way through, and in the mean time I don't think this is the safest place for us to be. Anyone know how to make a Portkey?"

Everyone looked at Hermione; she shook her head. "It's restricted magic. What about Apparation?"

"Don't you think I already tried that?" Harry snapped. He seemed to realize his anger was unreasonable and deflated. "Sorry. They've put up Anti-Apparation wards," he said glumly, "and those can only be taken down from the outside."

Remus, meanwhile, was doing his own detective work. **Same voice as before?**

**Yeah,** Danger responded. **No clues there.**

**I wish it would just talk again,** Remus said sarcastically. **Prophecy isn't much use if you can't figure it out before you need it.**

Suddenly, Fawkes sung a high, piercing note, and Danger gasped as her mind was flooded with memory. _It _did _explain—_ "The singing of the fire's bird— but there's no time—" Danger broke off and composed herself. Everything that had to happen, everything she had to do, unfolded before her, but could she do it?

_Not alone, I can't._ With sad resolve, Danger met the eyes of each of her Packmates. "Will you trust me?" she asked solemnly. "Even if what I say sounds utterly stupid, will you trust me?"

"Yes," "Of course," "Absolutely," "With my life," the members of the Pack answered.

**Did you need to ask?**

**Yes. I did. I can't explain why—no time—but I did.**

Danger released a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "Now we can begin. First— thank you." Danger put more emotion into the words than perhaps any she had spoken before. "The past eight months of my life have been amazing, thanks to you, all of you. I can never say how much your friendship has meant to me." **Not to mention this.**

As the Pack sat in stupefied silence, Danger scribbled three notes. One she gave to Harry, one to Ginny, and one to Fawkes.

"What's going on?" Aletha asked shakily. "Why are you saying this? What's going to happen to us?"

Danger closed her eyes. _God, give us strength._ She opened them and stared at Aletha. "You heard the poem," she said softly. "This is the time of testing. The time of proving." Fawkes began to sing softly, offering much-needed comfort, as she continued. "All our lives, we have been protected. All our lives, people have fought for us. But that can't go on forever." Danger looked around at each of them. "The time has come for us to do the protecting. The time has come—" her voice became firmer— "for us to do the fighting. Do you understand?"

Eleven fierce nods answered her. Fawkes gave one final trill and flamed away.

_God, I hope so._ "Good. Sit in a circle," she said, pointing out places as she spoke. "Harry, Lily, James, Hermione, Sirius, Letha, Ron, Rachel, Peter, Ginny, Remus. And leave the last spot for me." She waved her wand and conjured a simple white cloth napkin and a small, nondescript knife, placing them in front of herself as she sat. _Won't last long, not that pretty, but they'll do._

Danger nodded at Ginny, who looked at her paper briefly and began to speak.

"A sacrifice is required of us all today," she said clearly and determinedly. "We give up something we love, to gain something which will benefit us all and tie us closer together. Will you do this?"

"We will," the Pack answered, almost in chorus.

_You may not, when you see what it is._ Danger took a deep breath and pulled from around her neck the light chain on which her father's wedding ring rested. She closed her eyes briefly before placing it in the middle of the circle.

_Mum, Dad, wherever you are, I love you and I will never forget you. Never. And someday, I'll make sure there's justice done for your death._

A hush fell as Danger's hands returned to her lap.

Remus took something out of his pocket, a colorful, sleepy-looking dragon pin, and placed it atop Danger's ring. "Dad's," he explained quietly. "He sent it to me for my birthday last month. It's been in our family for generations."

Harry lifted the chain from his neck and placed it atop Remus and Danger's, looking at Lily briefly as he let it go. "James's."

With a pained expression, Lily did so as well. "Mine."

Peter followed her, and Rachel looked at him for a moment before adding her own.

James closed his eyes for a second, thinking of something, before taking the Gryffindor signet ring out of his pocket and adding it to the pile. It needed no explanation. Hermione pulled a chain similar to Danger's off her neck and added it as well. "Dad's," she said softly. "Danger gave it to me for my birthday." She saw Lily's eyes widen at that.

After a moment's hesitation, Ginny fumbled in her pocket for a second and pulled out a gleaming silver ring. "Mum's promise ring," she said very quietly. "Dad gave it to her, and she gave it to me. She said she wanted me to save it for a boy I loved—but I think this'll do." She glanced at Harry briefly as the ring left her hand.

Ron was next, adding a curiously shaped gold ring that he said belonged to his grandfather. Sirius contributed his Black heirloom ring. Aletha closed her eyes for a moment as if in pain before removing the Ravenclaw brooch, putting it on top of the growing pile.

"We have given of our belongings," Ginny intoned. "Now we must give of ourselves."

Danger ran the knife she held lightly against her palm, making a cut. She allowed the blood to drip onto the napkin she had ready for a few seconds, before handing knife and cloth to her left.

The Pack sat in silence as, one by one, each of them made the cut and added their blood to the cloth. Remus barely moved as he did; his transformations, Danger knew, had raised his pain threshold enormously. A few seemed afraid—Peter, Hermione, Aletha—_this really is affecting her, she never worries like that_—but none balked, and soon it was done. Harry was the last; he cut his own hand and handed the cloth back to Danger looking fiercely triumphant.

Danger leaned over, took the pile of rings, chains, and heirlooms, and wrapped it in the now blood-stained cloth. She looked at Harry and nodded.

Harry spoke, in the same tones of formal authority he used sometimes during den-nights, but amplified, stronger somehow, perhaps thanks to the situation they found themselves in . . . "We will now swear an oath. Hear me speak it first, and then look around you. If there is anyone here to whom you cannot swear this, depart now. For this oath is binding by magic, and the one who breaks it will never find rest, by day or by night, in life or in death. Hear me now—

"My hand in yours,

"My wand with yours,

"My life for yours,

"Now and always.

"Is there any here who does not wish to swear?"

No one spoke. No one moved.

"Then join hands and speak the oath with me, three times, to make it truly binding upon us all."

The Pack joined hands, one generation with the next, former rivals brought together by the horrors of war, and began to recite.

"My hand in yours,

"My wand with yours,

"My life for yours,

"Now and always."

Danger felt a strange tingling in her hands, an inkling of great and ancient magic; by everyone else's expressions, they felt it as well. Some were determined, some wide-eyed, Harry even wore a small smile.

"My hand in yours,

"My wand with yours,

"My life for yours,

"Now and always."

The second recitation had been firmer and more together. The tingling increased. It was an odd feeling, somehow both pleasant and foreboding, tying them inextricably together . . .

As they began to speak the oath for the final time, the twelve voices of the Pack melded into one, resonating through their bones and singing in their blood. Vibrations passed from hand to hand, but none of the Pack were really conscious of their senses at the moment; they felt themselves not as twelve but as _one_, and the sound of their voices, like phoenix song, seemed to come from some place deep within.

"_My hand in yours,_

"_My wand with yours,_

"_My life for yours,_

"_Now and always!_"

Suddenly, the napkin and rings were engulfed in golden-red flames. An instant later, they were consumed, leaving no sign that anything had been there to begin with.

In their place lay a confused pile of something gold.

"Everyone take one," Danger said, and was surprised at how tired she sounded. "We're finished."

Slowly, the members of the Pack reached out and each grabbed one of the items. Danger picked hers up; it was a golden chain, like the one her ring had been on, but with four golden medallions dangling from it.

Harry was the last one to take his. Barely a second after he put it on, he collapsed to the floor.

* * *

Ginny screamed as he fell.

"_HARRY!_"

She was at his side without even remembering how she got there. "Harry . . . Harry . . . Oh, Harry . . ." He didn't respond. He wasn't moving. It didn't even feel like he was unconscious. It was as if—

_No._ She clamped down on her emotions and looked back at the rest of the Pack. _We are in the Three Broomsticks, trapped by Death Eaters, and we have to find a way out. I can't even _think _that._

Aletha walked over to him and checked his vital signs. "He's not dead," she said as reassuringly as she could. "I don't know what's wrong with him, but it's not that. He's alive. He's just . . . elsewhere."

Ginny calmed slightly. _Aletha wants to be a Healer, we can trust her diagnosis. Harry's fine, wherever he is._

_I hope._

And there was still the not-so-small issue of their being trapped . . .

And she wasn't the only one who was worried. "Harry was always the one who knew what to do in a situation like this," Ron said shakily. "_Always._ What are we going to do without him?"

Hermione closed her eyes for a second. "_We_, Ron, are going to do our darnedest to get out of here alive," she said crisply. "And _you_ are going to use that grey matter of yours for a change and _tell us what to do._"

Ron looked stunned. "Me? What? But I'm—"

"The best of all of us at strategic thinking?" Ginny interrupted. "Which is exactly what we need right now? Not to mention fiercely loyal and damn good at keeping his head in a crisis? Damn it, Ron, stop doubting yourself and just _trust your instincts!_"

It took a few seconds for Ron's look of shock to fade. "Well, if you say so," he said in a tone indicating he thought Ginny and Hermione were both being completely mental. "We're pretty much trapped here, and there're DEs guarding the front of the bar. I say we try to get out the back, Stun anything that moves, and keep at least one of us facing reverse and guarding our backs so we don't get snuck up on."

"I'll do it," Remus volunteered. "I can run backwards fine."

"Okay, that's that, then. Trust your instincts, remember what you learned, don't lose your head, and _let's go!_"

_He really can be pretty amazing when he has to be,_ Ginny thought with a mental smile.

Eleven people charged out a rather narrow door, wands drawn. They were met with a most unwelcome sight.

They had come out right in the middle of a group of a dozen or so Death Eaters.

The robed, masked figures nearest them turned around in surprise. "Well, well, well," an aristocratic voice drawled. "What do we have here?"

_Malfoy!_ "I have one word for you, Lucy," she responded in the same tone. "_Stupefy!_"

"_Protego!_" Malfoy snarled, reacting with lightning-quick reflexes. His Shield Charm sent Ginny's Stunner into a surprised Rachel. "You'll have to do better than _that_, little girl! _Crucio!_"

Ginny was out of the way before he finished saying the spell. _There's no shield for the Cruciatus, but we're in a hallway with far too many death Eaters in far too little room for them to maneuver . . ._ A quick shove forced another of the faceless figures into the path of the curse, and he fell to the ground writhing in agony for the few seconds it took Lucius Malfoy to notice.

_Bastard deserves it,_ she thought savagely. Ginny seized the opportunity to revive Rachel, then concentrated on adding her own Stunners, hexes, and some Cutting Curses to the volleys flying around in the hallway, shot by both the Pack and Death Eaters.

Something seemed wrong, though . . .

_There's no green,_ Ginny realized. _They're not trying to kill us._

_Which means they want us alive._

Gulping slightly, she continued to fight the Death Eaters to a stalemate, dodging or shielding against what came her way. She was pretty sure she had a few cuts on her arms and legs, remnants of curses she couldn't dodge. In a moment of calm, Ginny saw Lily on the ground with what looked like a broken ankle, James standing in front of her protectively and blocking, without fail, _everything_ that came his way.

She didn't notice that that moment came because Lucius Malfoy briefly touched his arm.

The group that was fighting them retreated slightly to block the passage that led to the bar. Ginny mentally cheered the small victory, which turned into an utter smile as Malfoy looked behind him, yelled, "Dumbledore!", and they all Disapparated.

_Guess the wards are keyed to the Dark Mark, then . . ._

"We did it!" Ron yelled, and Ginny felt the tension drain out of her. They _had_ done it; they had held off a dozen Death Eaters long enough to stay alive until help could come. Remus was the only one of them who was still tense, still watching their backs, almost as if he didn't believe it was over . . .

It wasn't. A flutter of _pops_ was heard, and four more Death Eaters Apparated behind them. They each threw three tiny objects that looked like miniature skulls, and Disapparated before anyone could react.

"Look out!" Remus yelled, and they all ducked, but it didn't help.

Ginny felt something hit the back of her neck with a _ping_, followed by the telltale jerking sensation of a Portkey.

Before she was whisked away to Merlin-knows-where, she caught a glimpse of one last little skull flying straight into room seven.

_This is _not _good._

* * *

Remus snapped to full awareness with a start. He was laying on a hard floor, in a place that had a truly Dark smell to it . . .

_What is going on?_

As he opened his eyes, his memory answered that question for him. Fighting the Death Eaters—back to back with Danger, curses flying in all directions from the pair of them—their "victory" that seemed so incomplete somehow, and then the Portkeys thrown—he had tried to tell everyone to duck, but to no avail, the things seemed to hone onto them—

_And now, here I am, looking out through oddly shiny bars, with—_ he checked— _yep, no wand, just waiting for the Death Eaters to come in and have some fun . . ._

_I do not like the looks of this situation. At all._

Remus began to pace his cell frantically, needing an outlet for all his frustration and worry—he felt rather lupine at the moment, he always did in situations like this—

**Calm down, love,** soothed a very familiar, and very welcome, voice in his mind.

Remus felt the tension drain out of him; he sagged against the bars of his cell. **Damn, but I've never been so happy to hear you. How are you doing?**

**Apart from the fact that I'm in some sort of cement box that passes for a 'cell' with these people, unarmed and clueless, just fine.**

**I see your scathing wit remains unaffected by such things as . . . oh, threats to our lives.** Remus's mental tone was light; in truth, Danger's levity helped him greatly, and she knew it.

Suddenly, the werewolf noticed a strange tingling in the areas of his skin closest to his cell bars. Startled, he stood up straight, and the tingling stopped—before he sagged in exhaustion. _Why am I so tired all of a sudden?_

Remus decided it didn't really matter; looking down, he noticed a faint pink tinge where his arms had touched the bars, and he sniffed the air suspiciously . . .

He cursed mentally, quite loud enough for Danger to hear. **Silver.**

**What?**

**The bars of my cage are silver,** Remus elaborated, a bit testily. He felt like pacing again, but he couldn't seem to muster the energy . . .

**I still don't understand.**

**Silver? Werewolf? They _know_, Danger. Someone told them, and I can count on one paw the number of people it could've been.**

**None of us could've told—remember, 'never find rest, by day or by night'?—so it must've been—**

**Snape.** Both of them said it at the same time; Remus elaborated. **Severus bloody Snape, who Dumbledore kept _insisting_ we could trust, is a bloody Death Eater spy.** His mental voice was nearly a snarl.

**How do you—**

Remus cut her off. **Shh. I hear something.**

And, sure enough, voices were drifting into his cell, only barely discernible even to his enhanced senses.

"Didn't I tell you we'd win in the end, you foolish little girl? You'll pay for your insolence, and you'll join the Dark Lord, or we'll torture you to death if need be . . ." The aristocratic drawl trailed off menacingly.

"Never, Lucy," spat an enraged female voice. "I'll die before I join your psychotic half-blood master." She paused for a second, and when she spoke again, her voice was much calmer. "Oh, you didn't know that? Tom Marvolo Riddle, Head Boy. Look him up sometimes, and take a good look at the letters of his name."

**Malfoy and Ginny,** Remus said worriedly, then laughed. **Did _you_ know Voldemort's a half-blood?**

**Oh, the irony.**

"How dare you!" Malfoy snarled. "_Crucio!_"

A few seconds passed in absolute, horrified silence before Malfoy lifted the spell. "Didn't like that, did you?" His sneer was audible, and Remus could hear Ginny gasping for breath. "I'll give you some more time alone. To _think_. Actually—" he seemed to consider something for a moment— "not alone. I believe I'll put your _precious_ Potter right here, as a bit of a reminder . . . we wouldn't want _you_ getting on the wrong side of a Dementor too, now would we? Which, by the way, will happen if you so much as say a _single word_ further." A gentle _thud_ was heard, and heavy footsteps signaled Malfoy's departure.

**He hasn't really been Kissed, has he?** Remus asked worriedly.

**I don't think so. There _were_ Dementors in town, but I'm thinking of something else. 'The lion-hearted wolf will find / Unwavering call to realm of mind . . .'**

A draft of air ran through the cell, and Remus shivered. _Merlin, I'm never like this, except when—_

Everything clicked into place. _Full moon. Tonight. Without Danger. And the wolf is going to be _mad

'**A choice to make, forever be.'** He didn't 'voice' his previous thoughts, but Danger caught the gist of them anyway, and it was reflected in her response.

**I can only hope Harry chooses right,** she said. **And soon. For _all_ of us.**

**Amen to that.**

_If there's even any way out . . ._

* * *

Harry woke in light.

_What happened?_ he wondered. _Last thing I remember, we made the oath, I put the pendants on, and then—this._

He looked around and started. _I know this place. I've been here before. The lake, right here—this grass on the edge of it—I think I was here with Ginny around this time last year._

_Wait. This is Hogwarts._

_It looks different, somehow . . ._

Harry wasn't given time to ponder this, though, as a medium-sized animal with a black-and-white striped head padded up to him and made a half-barking noise.

He looked down at it quizzically. "What is it?"

To his utter surprise, the badger looked back and forth between the castle—Harry hadn't noticed it before, hidden by the trees, but it was where he expected and somehow even more majestic than he remembered—and him. He was reminded of how Danger had described Moony's gesturing the night she had discovered her taming . . .

"Do you want me to follow you?" he asked.

The badger nodded.

_This is getting more surreal by the moment._

Harry shook his head to dispel the mysticism—he was here now, however odd it seemed, and he'd have to make the most of it. Addressing the badger, he said, "All right, then. Lead the way, Scion of Hufflepuff."

He had meant it as a joke, but the look the badger gave him seemed almost—impressed?

_No need to worry about that now,_ he thought as it scampered away through the trees. _I'd better follow._

And follow he did, through the light cover of the surprisingly fertile trees that encircled the lake, until the badger stopped in a small clearing.

"Where—" Harry didn't finish his sentence, for his attention was diverted: a large green snake was slithering its way through the grass. "I should've known," he said ruefully. "Nothing normal _ever_ happens to me."

He turned and addressed the snake. "_Are you here to guide me as well?_" The words seemed detached to him, with an undertone of hissing—Parseltongue.

"_I am, young speaker. Follow me, please, and do not be afraid._"

Harry did as the snake asked, finding the presence of both animals oddly comforting. The three walked in silence until they stepped out from under the trees—and an ear-splitting screech from above sorely tested Harry's ability to follow the recommendation. The majestic eagle from which it had come swooped down and alighted on Harry's shoulder.

"Hey there," he said comfortingly to it. "You're quite a handsome bird."

It ruffled its feathers happily, somehow not seeming nearly as heavy as it should've been.

As they approached the front steps of the castle, Harry was not at all surprised to see a proud lion walk up next to him. _All four Houses . . . and this, the last, and the one I hold most dear._

He rested his hand on its mane as they walked up the brightly polished stone steps. The castle seemed newer, too, bright marble instead of rusty stone, almost as if it had just been made . . .

The doors opened unbidden, admitted Harry and his four companions, and closed softly behind them.

_This is just too weird._

Flanked by lion, badger, eagle, and serpent, he walked solemnly into the Great Hall—

—and stopped short, gaping. The structure, yes, this was the Great Hall, but he had never seen it like he did now. There were no House tables; in their place stood a number of chairs, some shorter tables, what looked like a loom and spinning wheel in one corner; but, looking up, Harry saw that the candles and ceiling were the same as ever, the latter reflecting a piercing azure sky with the occasional cloud . . . and was it his imagination, or did everything seem _more_ real, _more_ distinct in this Hogwarts than in the one he knew?

And it was deserted—nobody in sight except him. Except . . . A flicker of movement caught Harry's eye; his four animal companions were alternately walking, slithering, and flying towards the door next to the teachers' dais, the door he had gone through when the Goblet of Fire announced his name in fourth year.

The _open_ door.

_Guess that's where I'm expected, then._ He started walking. One step. Two. Three.

And there were people inside, he could see that now—maybe a dozen of them, chatting amiably. As one of them, a red-robed man, noticed the animals coming in, he fell silent, looked up, and his eyes flickered to Harry's.

Four. Five. Six.

The people fell silent, and their demeanor changed. _They're waiting for something. Waiting for _me—

Seven. Eight. Nine.

_Why am I so nervous about this?_ But he already knew why—it was the unsettling aspect of just _where_ he was. He wasn't at the Hogwarts he knew, that was for sure, and he had a suspicion the people he was about to meet had immense control over this realm—and over his own.

Ten. He was inside.

The portraits Harry remembered seeing in the small room were gone. In their place were ten chairs: three on each of left and right, four directly across from him. Each was occupied, and each occupant was looking closely at him.

The red-robed man he remembered seeing stood up and addressed him formally. "Harry James Potter, son of Lily, son of James, we bid you welcome."

_Looks a bit like Scrimgeour_, Harry noted idly, _except that I can trust him. He doesn't grandstand—it's more of an unconscious authority . . ._

Harry bowed his head quickly; it was not a usual gesture for him, but something told him the situation demanded it. "Thank you. You seem to know a lot about me . . . in return, might you tell me your own names, and what our business is?"

"Direct," the red-robed man said with a small smile, "but polite. Both are valued among us; you may know these things. Will you sit?"

"I will."

Gryffindor waved a hand, and Harry noticed a chair appear before the strangers. He sat in it, looking around as he did so. Three against the left wall, one against the back, four women sat robed in varying shades of blue, surveying him sternly and dispassionately. The last and oldest of these, if her white hair was any indication, reminded Harry a bit of Professor McGonagall. The other three appeared to be a bit softer, one with blond hair, one with red, and one a brunette.

Directly facing him were three red-robed people, two men and one woman: the one who had addressed him just a second ago, and what might have been his son and daughter. They were naggingly familiar, not as if he knew them, but as if he should have . . .

Against the right wall, Harry saw a young man and an older woman, both robed in sunny yellow, both with brown hair. The woman reminded him strikingly of Molly Weasley; perhaps it was the caring quality that her face unconsciously carried, or the fact that she seemed to be someone one could confide in, one whose word was her bond. The man echoed many of these attributes, and Harry noticed a slight green stain on his thumb.

Finally, a lone figure sat robed in green. He was watching Harry curiously, and as Harry returned the gaze, he recognized its object and opened his mouth in surprise.

_What in Merlin's name is Alex doing here?_

Before Harry could ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue, though, the red-robed, tawny-haired man (who seemed to be their leader) began his promised explanation. "You wished to know who we are, and what our business may be with you," he said with formality Harry found unusual. "You know of three of us already."

As he spoke, the white-haired woman in blue and the older woman in yellow came to stand beside him.

"We are the Founders of Hogwarts."

Harry gaped at them. "But— but you're—"

"Let me guess," said the woman in yellow—_no, Helga Hufflepuff, she must be_. "We're dead."

Not trusting himself to speak coherently, Harry nodded.

"We did die, it is true," said the blue-robed woman—Rowena Ravenclaw. "But, after our deaths, we chose—"

"We were chosen," Hufflepuff interrupted.

"We accepted being chosen," the red-robed man who must have been Godric Gryffindor clarified further, "to remain close to the world in which we once dwelt, and continue to help direct its activities."

"These others are our children," Ravenclaw explained, gesturing to those who remained seated. "They too were offered this choice, and one and all they joined us in it."

_So that would make the three other girls in blue her daughters—the yellow man must be Hufflepuff's son—and those _are _Gryffindor's children. What about—_ Harry looked at Alex questioningly.

Alex rose. "I am, as you may have guessed, the so-called 'good' son of Salazar Slytherin." His voice held a trace of irony. "He and my brother Matthias quarreled with the other Founders on the subject of blood purity—the story has survived to your day, I believe."

"It has, but not your name—I only know it because of your portrait in the D– Heart of Hogwarts told me. Alex?"

Alex smiled. "Indeed, Alexander is my name. I alone, from the three Slytherin men who swore the oath, remain true to my given word. My father and brother broke their vows and deserted our company, and now they will never find rest, by day or by night, in life or in death." The last part had a ritualistic sound to it—

—and Harry realized he had heard it before, had said it, even. "The oath— you've sworn an oath to one another—"

Gryffindor nodded and extended his hands to his children. "My hand in yours."

The others did the same, forming a circle of linked hands; Alex and the darkest Ravenclaw daughter lifted their hands to each other, since they were too far away to touch. "My wand with yours."

Alex's face twisted into a bitter smile as he said the next line. "My life for yours."

"Now and always." The words echoed far longer than it seemed they should have.

"None who have not sworn this oath may enter this castle," Gryffindor explained as they unclasped hands. "We, the four Founders, so swore to one another before embarking upon our great task—the building of a school of magic. Our children so swore to one another and to us, once they were of an age to do so. All did so willingly, in keeping with their ideals and our own—though I suspect we may never know what drove Matthias to his actions. May I make known to you my son, Paul, and my daughter, Maura."

Each rose and bowed slightly as Gryffindor named them; Harry returned the bows.

"May I make known to you my son, Adam," said Hufflepuff in a formal yet friendly tone, and Harry bowed to him as well.

Ravenclaw was next. "May I make known to you my daughters, Sophia, Brenna, and Margaret." Each stood and curtsied in turn as her mother spoke her name.

Margaret remained standing as the other two sat down. "I'm still amazed I was allowed to be a part of this," she said frankly. "You may not know, but I was a Squib. No magic at all. I married a Muggle, and none of our children turned out magical. I've always wondered if any of our later descendants did, though. Would you happen to know?"

"All the books say records from your time are inconsistent, so no." Something clicked in Harry's mind. "But one of my friends, Aletha Freeman, is Muggle-born, and she has the Ravenclaw brooch—"

"That was mine!" Margaret said excitedly.

"But, as I said, we can't know for sure. One of your descendants may just have sold it, and while Aletha is interested in Healing, she hasn't shown any unusual powers for it."

Paul Gryffindor nodded. "That's the only way to tell, but sometimes they don't show up right away," he said appraisingly. "The family talents." He snapped his fingers, and a ball of fire appeared in his hand.

"Paul!" his sister snapped. "Forgive him, please," she said more gently, facing Harry. "Even after all these years, he's not entirely housetrained."

Harry had been sorely tempted to match Paul's antics—especially here, in the presence of Gryffindor himself—but after Maura's remark, he was glad he had restrained himself.

Adam Hufflepuff spoke up ruefully. "I wish Matthias and Salazar hadn't betrayed us. We men are outnumbered now."

"Oh, and that's a bad thing?" Sophie Ravenclaw fired back.

"Enough!" Gryffindor said quietly, but his word still had its desired effect; the other Founders stopped their friendly bickering immediately. He turned to Harry. "We are now known to one another, Harry Potter, and so we shall address the second half of your question. Our business with you."

Harry sat up straighter.

"You must know," Gryffindor continued, "that the situation you and your friends have found yourselves in is unique, even among wizards. Theoretically, time-travel is simple enough to do, requiring only large amounts of power. However, we normally forbid it over such large scales as one you've experienced. The further back one goes, the greater the change caused, and that effectively creates an alternate timeline."

"Which means more work for us," Sophia said exasperatedly.

"Indeed. However, in this case, it was I, working through my phoenix, who caused you to be sent back. Such an action is highly irregular, but it was deemed necessary in your case; you had a very low chance of surviving capture by Tom Riddle's servants, especially at that time, and we certainly did not want him running around unchecked."

Harry took a few seconds to gather his thoughts. "I suppose I should thank you," he said finally, measuredly. "You've made the best part of my life, such as it's been, possible; I've had a chance to meet people I thought I'd never see, and I'll be able to hopefully save them this time around. So thank you."

_Although I would like to know what I'm missing, chatting up here . . ._

Gryffindor smiled approvingly. "Your thanks are received and appreciated. And in recompense, we will show you something I believe you wished to see."

He gestured, and an area of the air turned opaque, first black, then silver, a mirror showing an image altogether different from Harry's surroundings.

Actually, he realized with horror after a few seconds, the image _was_ of his surroundings.

His real ones.

Harry watched, stricken, as the images of each member of the Pack cycled through. _The Death Eaters got us,_ he thought over and over again as he saw Ron, slumped tiredly against a wall; Hermione, eyes closed in concentration; James, pacing his cell angrily; Sirius, sitting in a corner, in his eyes that deadened, haunted look Harry hoped he'd never see in them again; Peter, in the middle of his cell, beads of sweat on his forehead, shaking.

Remus, being tortured by Snape.

Ginny, crying, looking through the bars of her cell at something—at _him_—

The Founders shut off the projection quickly.

Harry was agitated. "Whatever you have to say, make it quick," he said angrily, though his anger was not directed at the Founders. "I need to get back there."

"That need may yet go unfulfilled," Ravenclaw said, a bit frostily.

"_What?_" His anger vanished, replaced by confusion "Why?"

It was Alex who answered. "You should know that your arrival in 1976 has had some highly . . . unexpected consequences. What with your being named in two very active prophecies, and your knowledge of the future that has a habit of coming out, even we are at a loss to predict what will happen. It may very well be that, because of these changes, my many-times-great-nephew will find himself victorious against you and your friends."

Harry gulped, horrified. _No— Voldemort can't win, he just _can't—

Ravenclaw took up the thread of explanation. "All four of you time-travelers have made ripples in the world you now know, but yours have been by far the largest. Yours are, shall we say, the _unpredictable_ ones. Much, very much, depends on what you choose. You may be victorious, or you may not, but it will be a treacherous road. _People will die,_ Harry Potter. People who love you, and whom you love in return."

Harry sighed, torn. "I know. But what else can I do?"

"We have brought you here to offer you a choice," Ravenclaw said smoothly. "This choice—listen well. You may, of course, return home, keeping in mind what we have told you. You and Voldemort will clash bitterly, and even if you manage to defeat him, it will come at a price. You will live out your life with no further intervention from us, except that which is normal to the lives of all those who have magic in the land of Britain."

"Or," said Hufflepuff, "you could just stay here. Stay here and forget about the war."

Harry stared at her. "I don't understand."

"The prophecy only holds as long as you're both in the same reality. Without your catalyzing presence against his plots, Voldemort will grow confident and overextend himself. You have told your friends, your Pack, a great deal of what he has done to guard his position, have you not?" Harry nodded. "And they will use the information themselves, to great effect; even without you, they and Albus Dumbledore will finally defeat him—and with a lesser cost of life."

"If you choose this course, Voldemort's plot would fail," Paul said. "The rest of your Pack would be home and safe at Hogwarts tonight."

"Your family would thrive," said Maura.

"Your friends would prosper, and grow in friendship for one another," Adam contributed.

"Their children would be many," said Brenna.

"Their lives would be long," said Sophia.

"Their deaths would be painless," said Margaret.

"And they wouldn't miss you," said Alex, last and quietest of all. "No one would grieve for you. They would either know you were somewhere better, or simply forget about you altogether."

"So the choice lies before you now," Gryffindor concluded. "To join us, or not. To aim to protect your friends by returning, or to ensure their safety by staying. The decision is yours, and yours alone, to make."

Harry had sat in stupefied silence as the Founders explained their proposition. Thoughts whirling at top speed through his mind, he did not feel prepared, here in front of them, to decide.

"May I have some time to think?" he asked, his voice reflecting a thousand different emotions he didn't know he had.

"Of course. All the time you wish."

"And may I be alone for it?"

"You may." Gryffindor snapped his fingers, and Harry found himself abruptly sitting next to the lake, on a boulder instead of a chair.

He stared out over the lake, not really thinking about what he was seeing, just wanting to look far away, away from all this . . .

_This is, without a doubt, the hardest decision I've ever had to make in my life. Ever._

_Go back and fight for peace—or stay, and allow it to come._

_Go back and lose those whom I love—or stay, and ensure their happiness at the expense of mine._

_Go back and risk all the Pack's lives—or stay, and preserve them all but one._

Harry put his face in his hands, searching for his resolve. _I know what I must do. What I want must play no part._

He sat up, straightened himself, and was abruptly back in an audience with the Founders.

"Have you reached a decision?" Gryffindor asked, surveying him inscrutably.

Harry looked him powerfully in the eye.

"I have."

* * *

James woke in darkness.

He sat up groggily, blinked a few times, and squinted, trying to see in the dim light.

_Death Eaters!_ he remembered.

_I need to get out of here. Now._

He surveyed his cell dispassionately, looking for an escape route. _Concrete—no luck there—and metal bars . . ._

_Even metal melts, if you get it hot enough._

Smiling, he reached for the familiar fire power and set licks of white-hot flame around the base of the bars.

_Any second now . . ._

He waited.

Nothing happened.

_Damn it all to hell,_ James cursed mentally. The flames continued to burn, but they weren't consuming anything. _They've put some sort of Flame-Freezing Charm on them, it looks like._

_Merlin, I hope Lily and Harry and Padfoot and everyone else is okay . . ._

James stood up and began to pace his cell furiously. _We're trapped here, anti-Apparation wards, no wand, completely at the Death Eaters' mercy . . ._

_I need something to think about. Anything. Or I'll go crazy worrying._

As if in response, he felt a lick of heat spread from the back of his neck down to his pendants. As a Gryffindor Heir, he could not be burned, but that didn't mean he couldn't feel extremes of temperature.

_These pendants tie us together—they probably react like this when one of us is upset, or in danger . . ._

_That is _not _the kind of thought I was hoping for._

* * *

Meanwhile, Sirius sat, despondent, in a corner of his cell.

He heard a clapping noise outside and jumped, before forcing himself to calm down. _Just some muffled voices now, probably routine doing of whatever it is Death Eaters do . . . don't want to call out, I'll attract attention to myself . . ._

With effort, he restrained himself from looking out to see what was going on. _Don't look at the bars, Padfoot. Look at something else. Like the wall. The nice, gray, boring wall._

The calming effect was ruined somewhat by the presence of what looked to be a bloodstain on said wall.

Sirius buried his head in his hands as a memory came back to him—the childhood memory he had been trying to avoid. When he was seven years old, Bellatrix had locked him in a closet all day, adding a Silencing Charm for good measure. His parents hadn't seen fit to actually look for him until past nightfall.

_Because of her—of them—I've always hated enclosed spaces, deep shadows, and most of all, being alone . . ._

He opened his eyes and surveyed the cell ruefully. _Which seems to describe my situation perfectly._

Severus Snape had visited him an hour ago—or was it ten minutes? Time seemed to flow so strangely . . . The Slytherin had thrown out equal parts taunts and threats as he spoke. "You're all alone now," he had said. "At the Dark Lord's nonexistent mercy, and at mine. You didn't think I actually accepted your apology, did you, Black? No, I just shored up my anger for a time I could use it, like right now . . ."

_And I am,_ Sirius thought despondently, hardly concentrating on the fact that Snivellus was the slimy traitor he'd always known he'd be. _Alone. Hardly a minute's gone by since I started Hogwarts that I didn't have one of the Marauders nearby, in spirit if not physically—and then we formed the Pack, and things have just gotten better in that regard, but now it feels like it's all slipping away . . ._

It was one of the things that had made the aftermath of the werewolf incident so wrenching for Sirius, he realized belatedly. He had been cut off from his friends, for the first time, really, and it had been a terrible thing for him to go through.

_Life-changing, even. Who knew Sirius Black could ever live up to his first name?_

_And yet this is so, so much worse . . . Then, at least I knew the Pack—only we weren't the Pack then—was safe and alive. Now, I have no idea. They might be miles away, or—dead—_

He was either going to cry or scream in a minute, he was sure of that.

"Somebody help me," Sirius whispered fervently, not daring to raise his voice any further. "Anybody. Please."

The chain and pendants he wore around his neck grew warm.

* * *

Aletha walked around her cell in a manner that most would probably call pacing.

_I'm not pacing,_ she thought firmly. _Nervous people pace. I am not nervous. Therefore, I do not pace._

Though she _was_ stuck here, with no rescue in sight and no idea what had happened to her friends . . .

_All right, I'll admit it. I'm pacing, and I'm nervous._

_And I need to do something about it._

Let it never be said that Aletha Freeman was the type of woman to who gave up when all seemed lost. True, she had been shaken when they realized they were trapped—shaken, in fact, up through the swearing of the oath—but that swearing had removed all vestiges of self-doubt.

_We're not alone,_ she had realized. _We have each other. And we each have our part to play._

_Maybe mine is the level-headed one._

Aletha stopped her pacing and stood straight and tall in the middle of her cell. She didn't have her wand, that she already knew, and there was no apparent way out.

But since when had that ever stopped her? She knew what she could do. To help the others realize what she knew—and clung to—so that none of the Pack lost hope. _Because if we give up now, we've already lost. Pack together._

And it certainly would be nice to, perhaps, rattle a few of the Death Eaters along the way.

_Do you have a death wish, Aletha?_ asked a small voice inside her mind. _Didn't they _tell _you they'd kill you if you talked? You're in enemy territory here! They have the wands! You don't! Don't antagonize them!_

That voice was quickly silenced. Aletha clapped twice, loudly. The sound echoed satisfyingly. She paused for a few seconds, then hummed a long opening note and began to sing as her father had taught her, her voice carrying through all the cells . . .

"_Close every door to me . . ._"

* * *

_Don't stop. Please, don't stop._

The hum had come so soon after Sirius's half-voiced plea that he could almost believe he'd been heard. It hadn't been noticeable at first, and even once he'd heard it, he had dismissed it as something routine—until Letha started to sing in earnest, and Sirius couldn't stop listening.

_And the song is helping me,_ he realized. _It's like a light in my brain—I'm _not _alone. Physically, here, I am, but not in spirit. Never with this._ He reached up almost unconsciously to touch the rapidly cooling pendants nestled against his chest.

"_Children of Israel are never alone . . ._"

_I don't think I've quite reached the 'peace of mind' bit yet, but I'm getting there. Thanks to you._

_Thank you, Letha. We may argue a lot, but when it mattered, you showed me exactly what I needed to see._

_No more despair. No more self-pity. We're getting out of here, alive._

* * *

Peter Pettigrew sat in the middle of his cell, shaking slightly. He was doing his best to keep calm, but to little avail.

For what must have been the tenth time in as many minutes, he reached for the familiar magic of his Animagus form, willing himself to turn into the small grey rat . . .

Yet again, it failed.

Peter sighed. _It's no use. Animagus requires you to be calm, or at least composed, and I'm neither. Not in a situation like this._

_I thought I could fight the Death Eaters. I actually did. I spent time in the D.A., learned everything as well as I was able, and look at me now._

_Captured, shivering pitifully in the middle of my cell, not even able to get a grip to do the one thing that might let me escape._

_Harry, now would be a good time for some help . . ._

* * *

Hermione was in a similar position in her own cell, but her train of thought was vastly different.

_I need to calm down. Panicking was very attractive for a few minutes, but now I'm burned out. There must be a way to get out—I just need to figure out what it is._

Taking a few deep breaths, Hermione composed herself, shutting out the occasional ambient noise coming from outside, and searched her mind for a solution.

Suddenly, she recalled the events of a few days previously.

_I'm done with my incantation, finished it on Wednesday. I took the potion almost a month ago._

_And those bars certainly seem to be set wide enough for a cat to slip by . . ._

Closing her eyes, Hermione began to recite.

"_Reno mea adsimile curalium, argilla, et merula est._" She felt fur sprout all over her in what she knew to be patches of orange, white, and black. _It's working, it's working . . ._

"_Celeritas et decor mea non pare est._" There was no visible change this time, but Hermione felt her brain start to become more agile, more streamlined, with the instincts and reflexes of a predator.

"_Mea denses et unguis catus sunt, atque ego sum._" The transformation of Hermione's brain completed, and that of her body progressed dramatically; her arms changed into the thinner legs of a cat, with padded—and _clawed_—paws on the ends . . .

"_Felis sum qui solus ambulat, sed omne loci idem mihi non sunt._" The last incantation completed the change from cat to human; Hermione shrunk, felt herself land on all fours, noticed her eyesight change to the keen sense of a cat.

_I am the cat who walks by herself,_ she mentally translated, _but not all places are alone to me._

_No places are alone, in fact. Not as long as I have my friends._

Moving quickly and silently, Neenie slinked out between the bars of her cell. She had a task to accomplish.

_And I _still _can't believe Danger picked that name for my form._

The small cat padded noiselessly through the hallways, looking left and right for members of the Pack.

She didn't need to walk very far to find them. Harry's unconscious body caught her attention; it had been unceremoniously dumped in front of Ginny's cell, and the others were all adjacent to it, arranged along what was to her the left wall with a foot or so of concrete between them.

_Only ten cells here . . . guess they had to improvise for me._

A quick pawing of Harry showed that the Death Eaters had, indeed, taken his wand. It wasn't in any of his pockets, at least. _Never expected them to think ahead so well._

_Now how do I undo the locks?_

A passing Death Eater answered the question for her. "Oh, would you look at that little kitty," he cooed mockingly. "I think he will make a fine present for our Lord . . ."

_Excellent._

Neenie stared, unblinkingly, as the masked Death Eater picked her up (surprisingly gently) and cradled her against his chest. _Erg._

She _moved_. Acting by some new instinct, she shoved her claws into his chest, making the Death Eater stumble backwards.

_And now, for the final touch . . ._

_Reditio ipse._

_Yep, that'll do it._ The sudden change from sixteen pounds of cat to some nine times that of human made the Death Eater tumble to the ground completely, hitting his head hard against the stone floor.

Hermione smirked. "I," she said slowly, "am a _she_."

Then, for good measure, she punched him in the nose.

As the Death Eater groaned slightly, Hermione searched his pockets for a wand.

She found one in his back pocket. _Second time lucky, I guess._

Smiling, Hermione stood up, brushed herself off, and walked to the door of the nearest cell—Ginny's. "_Alohamora!_"

With a soft _click_, the lock came open. Ginny looked up in wonder. "Hermione?" she breathed.

"In the flesh." Hermione smiled. "Come on, let's get you out of here. Anything happen?"

"Well, yeah." Ginny's smile disappeared. "Lucius Malfoy came by, taunted me, put Harry's body outside my cell to torment me. I taunted him back, he _Crucio_'ed me and left."

Hermione looked horrified. "I'm sorry, Ginny."

"Don't be. We're getting out of here, right?"

"Right."

It was the work of only a few minutes to free the other nine members of the Pack, and they all looked much better once they were together again. Hermione noticed Sirius gazing thankfully at Aletha, who smiled in return.

_I wonder what might have caused that . . . no, I'll ask later._

"Come on," said Ron, taking command again, "let's go!"

With Hermione levitating Harry's body behind them, the twelve continued the path Hermione had taken. After going through a long, deserted hallway, they rounded a corner and—

"My wand!" Lily exclaimed.

Sure enough, on a wall to their right was an arrangement of cubbyholes—and twelve of them contained very familiar-looking wands.

"They must have taken them all when we got Portkeyed in," Hermione mused. She reached out her hand to grab one, but a lurid green barrier formed a shield over the wall as she tried, and she was flung back rather painfully.

A small _pop_, and Severus Snape's face sneered down at the twelve of them.

"So pathetic," he said condescendingly. "The twelve of you actually manage to escape, and you get thwarted by the simplest security system in our book—Dark Mark-keyed wards. Only Death Eaters can get through, and only Voldemort can take them down." He sighed dramatically. "I will _so_ enjoy delivering you to the Dark Lord personally."

"You stinking traitor, Snivellus!" Sirius snarled. "Whose side are you on?"

"The Dark Lord's, of course," the greasy-haired boy replied with a smirk. "He actually offers _power_. Of course, a pathetic Gryffindor like you could never understand that, could you? I think—"

James Potter, who had been growing slowly more and more incensed as Snape spoke, cut him off. "Stop! Severus Snape, by the power of a life debt owed, I order you to return the twelve of us our wands!"

Moving as if in a daze, Snape did so. His hands passed the barrier as if it wasn't there.

He blinked as if waking up, took one look at the situation, and chose the better part of valor.

He ran.

The various members of the Pack started sniggering. "We've got our wands," Sirius said happily, "and Snape ran away like the stinking coward he is. I could sing."

"Don't," advised Ron. "There are other Death Eaters around, and now we're outside the muffling spells they put between the cells. Incidentally, Aletha—thanks. It helped."

She smiled. "I do what I can."

Ron's expression grew serious as he thought for a few seconds. "I don't think we should keep going," he said finally. "This looks like the end of the prisoners' area, and we can tell Snape wasn't bluffing about the Dark Mark wards. They seem to send up some sort of signal. Remember, they set one on the Astronomy Tower last year too."

A few of the Marauders looked confused for a second until they sorted out the time difference.

"So what do we do, then?" Peter asked determinedly.

"We wait, and if anyone comes—well, eleven wands beat one any day. Hopefully Harry will be able to break the wards."

The words _if he wakes up_ lay unsaid between them.

* * *

"_Have you reached a decision?" Gryffindor asked, surveying him inscrutably._

_Harry looked him powerfully in the eye._

"_I have."_

"And what is your decision?" asked Hufflepuff.

Harry took a deep breath. "I have decided," he said at a measured pace, "to remain here, and in so doing, keep my loved ones safe."

"Very well," said Ravenclaw, her features a calm mask. "Say the words, then."

_What words?_ But even as Harry pondered the question, he knew its response. _So I speak, so I intend . . ._

As he opened his mouth to say the words that would seal his fate, he was accosted by a memory.

"_I respect you, Harry, more than you'll ever know. I'm incredibly proud of you. I'm with you."_

"_I'm with you."_

"_I'm with you."_

"_I'm with you, Harry. We all are. . . . No matter what happens, don't lose sight of your friends . . ."_

_My friends. They're going to think I'm dead, or worse. I don't want them to worry._

Harry modified his wording. "So I speak, so I intend . . . so long as I have a chance to communicate my situation to Ginny."

The Founders appraised him inscrutably, the Ravenclaws most of all. Finally, Margaret Ravenclaw spoke. "I believe that is amenable. A temporary mind-link, five minutes . . . what say you?"

"So let it be done," said the ten voices in the room. They rose to leave the room, bowing or curtsying as they went. Alexander Slytherin, the last to leave, regarded Harry curiously, almost unnervingly.

"Is there something you wanted to tell me?" he asked, puzzled.

"No. I was just a touch surprised at your decision."

"Why?"

"You didn't strike me as the selfish type."

And, leaving Harry gaping, he bowed and left the room.

_Selfish?_

_How, exactly, does sacrificing _my _life to keep them safe count as _selfish?

Harry was furious. He strode out the door into the Great Hall, ready to make an angry retort—

The Hall was empty.

_Of course. This is a higher reality, or a dream, or whatever they call it. I can probably go somewhere just by wishing it. Like Apparation, but without the mess._

_I'll need to learn how. Because I'm not going back._

The reality of his situation left Harry gasping.

_I'm not going back._

_I'll never have another den-night._

_I'll never get hit by another one of the Marauders' pranks._

_I'll never have children of my own._

_I'll never know the peace I worked for._

_I'll never see Ginny again . . . any of them . . ._

Harry knew he was very close to crying at the moment. He looked up, and the ceiling seemed to reflect his mood—dark with huge, billowing clouds.

_I did what I had to. To keep everyone safe._

_Why, then, does it hurt so much?_

**Harry!**

It was not his own thought. Somehow, he knew the difference.

**Ginny?** he thought back, tentatively. _I guess this is what Margaret was talking about . . ._

_It's not enough. Not even if it could last forever._

_But it'll have to be._

* * *

The Pack sat in silence, Ginny most of all.

_I wish I knew what was wrong with Harry . . . he's the one we need right now, he's the only one who can break down Voldemort's wards . . ._

And then, suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by another set, foreign but familiar. **Selfish? How, exactly, does sacrificing _my_ life to keep them safe count as _selfish_?**

With growing horror, Ginny listened to a litany of regrets she finally realized as Harry's—wherever he was—

_Damn, I hope this connection goes both ways._

She reached out with her mind and shouted. **Harry!**

**Ginny?** Harry's response was tentative, raw, almost disbelieving.

**Yes, you prat, it's me. Now, where are you and why are you having such morose thoughts?**

**You heard that?**

**Yes, of course I did,** she snapped. **Now, please, just answer!**

And Harry began to explain, haltingly at first, but growing in speed and desperation as he poured out what the Founders had told him, his worries for them, for _her_—

_He's so selfless it's idiotic sometimes. Now is one of them, and I won't be able to convince him like this._

Acting as seemed natural and right to her, Ginny closed her eyes, concentrated, and flung her soul out through the link she had with Harry, willing herself to be with him, as she should be, wherever he was, forever . . .

* * *

Harry blinked. Something dark had appeared in front of him. _A shadow._

He moved his arm. The dark thing moved too. _No, my shadow._

_And to have a shadow, you have to have light . . ._

Harry turned around. She was there, behind one of the candles—the one person he knew it would be hardest to leave behind, the one person who had almost made him refuse the Founders' offer—

"Ginny?" he asked hoarsely, hardly daring to believe his eyes.

She smiled, and before Harry knew it, they were in each other's arms. Time seemed to stop; there was only the now, and the granting of a wish that had seemed impossible just seconds before . . .

Harry pulled back a bit and looked closely at Ginny's face. "How did you get here?" he asked joyfully.

"I don't know. I sort of flung myself onto the link we had—and I have no idea how that happened, by the way—"

"Margaret Ravenclaw set it up, gave me five minutes to explain myself so I wouldn't worry you." His expression turned somber. "_Why_ did you try to get here, anyway?"

"To bring you back, of course," Ginny shot back matter-of-factly.

"What if I don't want to go back?" Harry asked without thinking.

Then he realized what he'd said. _Merlin, did that just come out of ME?_

Ginny let go of him and slapped him. Hard.

Harry winced. "Ginny—"

"Don't you 'Ginny' me!" she shouted angrily. "I thought we had this argument last summer! I thought you _knew_—" she took a breath— "that I could handle myself! I thought we were in this together!"

Harry cut her off before too much steam could gather. "Do you even know what the Founders said?" He spoke quickly, but quietly, forcefully.

"No, what?"

"They said people would _die_, Gin. They said that _people I loved_ would die in the war." Harry was pacing back and forth agitatedly by now. "And as far as I'm concerned, that means you. Do you have any _idea_ what that would do to me?" he choked. "Do you?"

Ginny visibly deflated. "Yes, I do," she said softly. "Because it's the same thing _your_ death—or exile in Founderland, or whatever—would do to _me_. There are a lot of people who love you, Harry. Eleven of us in the Pack. Plenty more outside of it. It would be a small miracle of all of them _did_ survive." She sighed. Couldn't he just _understand?_

"But the Founders said—"

"Let me guess. We would be safe. We would live a long time. Did they say anything about our _happiness_?"

Harry gaped at her as he thought about it. _Never noticed that little loophole . . ._ "No."

"Allow me to fill in the blanks, then. We would be devastated. All of us. It would only hurt _more_ to know why you'd left. You, Harry Potter, are not the only one whose feelings matter. _That_'s what Alex meant. You only considered _your_ feelings about it. Yes, I know your feelings were telling you you should come back. That doesn't matter. It's easy to ignore your own emotions. You didn't think of _ours_."

Harry blinked and sighed. "God, Ginny, Alex—"

"—is a Slytherin, and was probably trying to fuel the very impulse I've just denounced. Harry, do you still love me?" she asked, a bit meekly.

"Of course, Ginny. Always."

"Then come back," she said warmly, but firmly. "Come back and let us face this war together. Yes, Harry, people will die. Good people, who didn't do anything to deserve it. But that happens in life. You didn't need the Founders to tell you that." Ginny paused, and her voice softened. "We keep living anyway."

Harry was silent for a long moment. "You're right," he said finally, shaking his head. "You're right, I was a complete idiot, and I'm unbelievably lucky to have you to set me straight. Thank you, Ginny. I need you, and don't ever let me forget it."

Ginny smiled widely. "Oh, don't worry, I won't." She readopted her expression of determination. "Then you'll come back?"

Harry took a breath to answer. _Quite possibly the most important question of my life . . ._ "Yes. I'll come back."

And then he was being kissed more thoroughly than he could remember being in the past three years or so.

_And since before then I'd never had a date . . ._

_Yes, I'd say this is the best moment of my life._

_Ginny's right. I was letting my fear play with me. Of course they'd want me back. I have real friends now, a family almost. They wouldn't want me sacrificing myself to keep them safe._

_I was just being stupid and selfish and scared._

Harry pulled back and grinned. "Do you love me?"

"I do," said Ginny, laughing. "I do!"

Harry had no idea how, but a veil appeared over Ginny's head and they both laughed even harder. "You may now kiss the bride," she said coyly.

"Not yet," said a tart female voice.

Harry and Ginny spun on the dais to face it; Ginny's veil disappeared. The Founders and their children were ranged in a half-circle below them. Rowena Ravenclaw stood slightly forward, being the one who had spoken.

"Our business with you is concluded," she continued, more gently. "You are free to go."

Ginny's eyes widened in understanding of something still unclear to Harry. "This— this was a test," she said astonishedly. "You were testing us, to see what we'd do, weren't you?"

"Very good, dear," said Helga Hufflepuff approvingly. "I do hope you'll forgive us; it is what we do, after all. And you've both passed with full marks."

"We haven't had anyone do so well in over seventy-five years," Margaret Ravenclaw said pensively. "Those two red-haired boys, the brothers—remember?"

"Indeed I do," said Sophia. "I remember you asking me whether I'd made a mistake with their threads. When you know perfectly well I don't make mistakes."

"Oh really?" Brenna challenged. "What about that time in the other universe, where you measured one sixty-five years too short?"

"Well, I'll try not to do that again this time. But still—"

Rowena Ravenclaw's voice rose over the chatter. "Girls—_enough!_"

"Because you have done so well," Gryffindor said, "all conditions are lifted. You will both return to your bodies at close to the time at which you—" he looked at Ginny— "left." He looked at Harry. "And do remember that the future is never set in stone. You would do best to protect your loved ones by fighting alongside them, not by pushing them away."

Harry looked slightly shamefaced. "Trust me, sir, I've learned my lesson."

"It certainly seems so. As well, we offer you a boon—anything within our power to grant, and our power is considerable."

Harry thought for a moment. "Give us what we need," he said.

"Ooh, very good, that one," Adam Hufflepuff said approvingly. "You sure he's not related to you, Alex?"

Alexander Slytherin sighed. "Sadly, yes. You know who is." The others nodded gravely.

"But that doesn't matter now," Paul said, waving a hand. "The gifts, esteemed friends, the gifts. In order—Gaga, you're first."

Helga put her hands on her hips and tried to look stern—which didn't work well, as her face wasn't built for stern. "_What_ have I told you about calling me Gaga, young man?"

Paul stroked his temple, pretending to think. "Hm . . . what was it . . . Ah, yes. I believe it was, 'If you call me Gaga again, I'll throw you in the lake.'"

Alex began to chant. "Lake, lake, lake, lake, . . ."

Adam and the Ravenclaw sisters joined him. "Lake, lake, lake, lake, . . ."

Paul gulped. "Maura, little help here?"

She smiled innocently and joined the opposition. "Lake, lake, lake, lake, . . ."

Paul whimpered slightly.

"_Later,_" Godric said severely, but Harry could see the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. "Alex, would you begin?"

"Gladly, sir." Alex came forward, stepped up onto the dais, and placed his left hand on Ginny's chest, his right on Harry's, so that both pressed gently into their pendants. "My gift to you," he said measuredly. "The chains and pendants which you wear shall be tangible only to those people and things for whom you wish them to be tangible. So that no one shall ever take them from you."

Alex bowed and stepped back to join the half-circle as Rowena Ravenclaw stepped up.

"My gift to you," she said, after placing her hands in the same position. "The pendants you wear shall act in the manner of a Pensieve, recording your memories. And if two or more share a chain, they shall be able to view the memories using spells which you shall know, and their minds shall be linked, allowing silent conversation."

She stepped away with a dignified curtsy, and Helga Hufflepuff took her place. "My gift to you," she said, mirroring the others. "The chains you wear shall grow or shrink as you will them to, and the ends of the chain shall grow together or apart as you wish, with no need for a clasp." She smiled gently. "So that you may share your memories and your thoughts more freely."

Godric Gryffindor was last, and as he stood before them, his hands in the same position on their chests, Harry thought he knew who it was he reminded him of.

_I think it's more than one person. Dumbledore, Remus, . . . me, maybe. The quiet leader. Scrimgeour's a bad imitation, I can see that now._

"My gift to you is already partially given," he said. "It was in the original materials you used to make these pendants. They grow warm or hot when another who wears them is in emotional distress, and cool or cold when one who wears them is in mortal peril. To this, I add that the carving which represents that person will glow, so that you may know who it is you must aid." He smiled thinly. "After all, a warning doesn't help much unless it's specific enough to work from."

He stepped down, and to Harry's surprise, Margaret Ravenclaw came forward.

"This gift is for the two of you, alone," she said. "The other gifts have been for your entire Pack—all your pendants will behave the same. But I have a gift for you and only you." She reached over and grabbed Ginny's right hand in her left, Harry's left in her right, so that they formed a sort of triangle. "You, Harry, came close to forgetting what you truly fought for today; and you, Ginny, came to his aid by dint of the link I formed between you. May this bond now continue in perpetuity, so that each of you remembers always that, no matter what may happen, you are never alone."

Harry felt the threads of his connection with Ginny, which had faded away unnoticed during the ceremony, retwine in full force, and stronger, more comfortably. It was an amazing feeling.

Margaret dropped their hands and returned silently to her place in the circle.

"Thank you," Harry murmured, so softly Ginny doubted the Ravenclaw daughter had heard.

**Did it work?** he asked silently.

**Certainly seems it,** Ginny replied cheerfully. **Thank you for doing the right thing, Harry.**

**And thank you for showing me the truth. Now I feel like I can face anything.**

"Now it is time for you to return," Rowena said with a hint of a smile. "You must go first," she said to Ginny. "Alone. And you must play the part of Orpheus."

**Huh?**

**Mythological reference.** Harry sent her the appropriate memories.

"Don't look back." Ginny smiled. "I'll manage. I trust you. See you back home, Harry," she said softly. "I love you."

Harry smiled in return. Ginny turned away from them, took one step—and vanished.

The Founders faced him, separating themselves into four distinct groups—Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and the lone Slytherin.

As one, Helga and Adam bowed. "Savior of the Lost, we bid you farewell," they intoned.

The three Gryffindors were next. "Bearer of Faith, we bid you farewell."

Finally, the four Ravenclaws offered their respects. "Bringer of Hope, we bid you farwell." Harry had a strange feeling that the words had a double meaning of sorts, but he was too drained to figure it out right then . . .

Alexander Slytherin smiled at him. "Go in peace, Harry James Potter, lion's son, serpent's fall."

Harry smiled back and lifted a hand in farewell as whirling colors brought him back to the reality he knew.

* * *

Suddenly, everything went black.

**That's because you have your eyes closed, love,** said the voice he most wanted to hear.

**You're absolutely right, Ginny. And Merlin, am I happy to be back.**

Harry opened his eyes, groaned, and sat up. "Everything seems to be working," he said to himself.

Then he looked around.

_All the Pack. Together._

_With our wands._

"How'd you escape?" he blurted out.

"_Neenie_ managed to slip out, if you know what I mean," Ron said with a conspiratorial wink.

Harry beamed at Hermione. "Congratulations. And thank you."

Hermione frowned slightly. "How'd you know we'd been captured, anyway? You've been unconscious since we did the oath."

"With a little help from Godric, Maura, and Paul," Ginny said calmly.

Seeing Hermione about to launch into 'thousand-questions mode', Harry quickly cut her off. "We'll explain later. For now, I think we should get out . . . any reason we've been waiting here?"

"We think there's a Dark Mark-keyed ward in the path," James explained. "There was one around that thing—" he pointed to the cubbyholes— "where our wands were, and when Lily tried to grab hers she got thrown back and Snape got alerted."

Harry gnashed his teeth briefly at this confirmation of Snape's loyalties. "How'd you get the wands, then?"

James smirked. "Called in his life debt to me."

"Nice one, James. All right. I think I can take down this ward—Dumbledore's been working with me on them. Anyone got my wand?"

Harry caught it from Ginny, then started to walk, muttering revealing spells every few feet. After about five yards, one of them showed a shimmering green barrier for a few seconds before fading away.

"That's it!" Lily exclaimed. "That's what the ward looks like. It's invisible until you try to get through it."

Harry took a deep breath. "Here goes nothing, then." _Let's hope Hermione and Dumbledore were right . . ._

He walked straight through the barrier, feeling nothing but a slight tingling.

"It worked!" he exclaimed quietly. "Now let me get to work taking it down. It has to be done from this side."

Harry began waving his wand in arcs against the invisible barrier, muttering basic ward-weakening spells; the barrier appeared in full force almost as soon as he started working, and green sparks marked the areas at which he was chipping away.

Some five minutes later, there was a loud _CRACK_; the green light of the ward brightened briefly before shattering and fading away to nothing.

"Done. Come on, let's go!"

With judicious use of the _Point Me_ spell, the group made their way around several corners, through long, dark corridors, to—

Sirius groaned. "A dead end? Come on, this can't be right!"

"Could it be an illusion?" Aletha suggested.

Harry snapped his fingers. "Perfect. Yeah, Aletha, it seems like it is. And—" he sent a few spells at the 'wall', which glowed blue— "it looks like this is where the Apparation wards end."

"Yes!" Danger exclaimed, then sobered. "Erm . . . how are Aletha and I going to get out?"

"We can Side-Along you. Now, through the wall!"

Harry ran through it first—it felt rather like going through the barrier to Platform Nine-and-Three Quarters—and found himself in a large antechamber, with no exit except that through two huge obsidian doors carved with serpents, that practically reeked of darkness.

Testing the wards, Harry Apparated a few feet to his left—and got there successfully.

_YES! We're out!_

He turned around to face the group of Pack members that had come right behind him, noting with amusement that Remus was holding his nose. _Guess he smells the darkness a bit more acutely than most of us._

"Except Danger and Aletha, you all know how to Apparate, right?" Harry asked softly.

A chorus of nods answered him.

"Great. We're going to Hogsmeade. Remus, you can Side-Along Danger. Hermione, you do Aletha." The two moved to grab their passengers' arms. "Everyone—"

Someone appeared behind them with a _pop_.

"_GO!_" Harry shouted, and a sound like the firing of a machine-gun was heard as eleven people disappeared.

Harry whirled around to face the new occupant of the room as they left.

**Oh, shit.**

**What is it, Harry?**

**Voldemort.** Sensing her horror, he added, **Don't you dare come back. He might raise another ward or something, and then we'd be trapped. Trust me—I'll be fine.**

_Now if only I wasn't saying that to convince myself . . ._

The self-styled Lord Voldemort stood in front of Harry, looking even more distorted than Harry remembered seeing in Dumbledore's Pensieve. He didn't quite look like the Voldemort that had risen from Wormtail's cauldron yet, but he was close—close enough, Harry thought, that no sane person would join him. With narrow red eyes, a barely distinct nose, and waxy-looking skin, he spoke.

"Why, hello there," he said in a cold, high-pitched voice. "I see you managed to get your friends to safety . . . pity it won't work for you." He fingered his wand threateningly as he walked closer and closer to Harry.

Harry's brain was working a mile a minute. _His wand! Voldemort's wand is a Horcrux!_

_This might prove to be a good thing after all._

Harry double-checked his Occlumency shields as Voldemort continued. "For _you_, you see, would be the jewel of my collection. I do keep better wards than I think you realize, Harry Potter. The ones guarding entrance into this room were triggered twelve times. Twelve. Anything strike you about that number?" Voldemort spoke slowly, deliberately, in a manner calculated to induce fear; he was barely three feet away by now.

_He knows the Prophecy. This is not good._

Harry didn't allow his fear to show, though, as he answered. "It's the same as the number of brain cells you have, Tom?"

He had figured out, based on Pensieve memories of Dumbledore's duels with Voldemort over the years, that the Dark Lord tended to get off-balanced when angry. And insulting him—using his name, even—was a good way to get him angry indeed.

If one was prepared to brave the consequences.

"You insolent whelp!" Voldemort hissed, raising his wand, his eyes glowing even more angrily red. "_Crucio!_"

The reddish-brown curse flew from the Dark Lord's wand through the few feet of air between him and Harry—

—and whizzed by, some three inches to his right. Harry, expecting a reaction like this, had jumped to his left before Voldemort even began his curse.

_Off-balanced indeed._

Before Voldemort could react—before, indeed, his curse had hit the far wall—Harry took action. He pointed his wand and focused all his hatred of the creature before him into two words:

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

Time seemed to slow. Voldemort didn't even move as the curse sailed toward him, though he certainly would have had a chance to react, to jump out of the way, to send one of his own. He just smirked.

_Guess he has some sort of protection, then . . ._

It was only at the last second that the Dark Lord realized the jet of green light wasn't heading for him.

It was heading for his wand.

Startled, he tried to pull his wand out of the way, but too late. The curse hit.

Harry gasped as he felt a wave of resistance to his spell. Voldemort's soul was incredibly stubborn and had been bound more tightly than any other—this was his fifth Horcrux, and he had had time to refine the art of creating them. He was going to be pushed out, the soul fragment would stay put, and his curse would rebound back on _him_—

Searching himself for every last thought of positive and loving experiences, Harry brought his most powerful memories to the surface to hold the dark thing at bay. The piece of Voldemort's soul recoiled for a moment, but regained its footing, even more immobile this time. It refused to be pushed out any more than about halfway—it seemed to get harder and harder to 'squeeze' it as Harry did so, and it was pushing back with more and more intensity—

Suddenly, without asking, Harry felt Ginny meld with his consciousness, offering him her support, love, and not insignificant force of will. Voldemort's soul receded further, compressing itself into what Harry assumed was a fraction of the wand's handle—

With one, final mental _heave_, Voldemort's wand split zig-zag along its length. There was a blood-curdling shriek, and Tom Marvolo Riddle dropped his last Horcrux, stunned.

Harry sagged with exhaustion, gathering the last of his strength to Apparate before he collapsed.

* * *

Blearily, Harry opened his eyes and took in his surroundings.

_A Death Eater would be killed for making a room this bright,_ he thought detachedly.

It took almost five seconds to connect that brightness to the fact that he was now in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.

_I'd love to get back to sleep, but I need to know what happened . . ._ A quick mental prod showed Ginny to be fast asleep, so Harry did the only other thing he could think of for information.

"'m awake," he mumbled. "Mad'm Pomf'y, 'm awake."

"Oh, you are indeed," the matron said briskly, bustling into the room. "You've suffered a severe case of magical exhaustion, but you'll recover—no long-term damage. We found eleven people near you in Hogsmeade; ten of them were awake and fine except for minor bruises and such, and Ginny Weasley is in pretty much the same state as you."

"'k." _Guess Ginny got the same thing because she helped me . . ._

"The Headmaster knows most of what happened," Madam Pomfrey continued. "He's questioned the others, though he'd like to speak to you sometime soon. You should be just fine by Wednesday. For now, though, just get some rest. I know it can't be too hard, not in this state."

_No, not hard at all. And I can rest easy, now. Everything will be fine._

Smiling slightly, Harry closed his eyes and fell immediately asleep.

* * *

When he next awoke, Harry felt much more rested. With a bit of scrambling on his bedside table, he found his glasses and put them on.

"Ah, Harry, you're awake," said a welcome voice.

Harry looked over. Sure enough, there was Professor Dumbledore, looking decidedly worried.

"Hello, Professor."

"You cannot know how welcome it is to see you mostly recovered, Harry. Madam Pomfrey said you would be fine, but even so . . . you have been sleeping for three days, did you realize?"

_Three days?_ "No, I didn't. And I'm _still_ tired." He sighed. "I destroyed Voldemort's wand, by the way. It took a lot of my energy, but I don't understand _why_."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled strongly. "This is excellent news indeed. Harry, I believe destruction of that particular . . . item . . . was so difficult because it was the last such item Voldemort had created—he had a chance to hone his methods—and it was in contact with the remainder of himself as you tried to destroy it. These sorts of objects grow more tenacious in close proximity to their creator."

Harry understood the message Dumbledore didn't want to say outright in such an insecure environment. _Horcruxes are harder to destroy when there's two soul bits near each other._

The two sat in contented silence for a few seconds, until Harry remembered something. _Dumbledore mentioned a bond when we talked about the prophecy . . . 'joining unto eleven' . . ._

"Professor, the bond you mentioned having formed with your brother—is it a magical oath that starts, 'My hand in yours'?"

The twinkle grew even further. "Indeed it is, Harry. I believe it is safe to assume you and your friends have sworn that oath?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah, we did. And then I got accosted by the Founders, who tried to convince me to stay There because it would keep the rest of the Pack safe . . . long story."

"You most certainly have 'emerged', as the prophecy would say, over the past few days, Harry—just as predicted. You cannot expect Lord Voldemort to forget that you and your friends have defied him, now. Be on your lookout—but do not forget to live."

"I won't, Professor. I've learned _that_ by now, at least. Anything else?"

"Simply some more rest, Harry . . . Madam Pomfrey has refused to allow you to leave the Hospital Wing for another day, and even I have never been able to argue with her. Good luck."

"Thanks, sir. Could you let my friends come in now?"

"Gladly, Harry." Dumbledore rose and left the Hospital Wing, and barely five seconds later, eleven members of the Pack came barreling in.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione shrilled, "we were so _worried_—" She reached over and gave him a bone-cracking hug.

"Let him breathe, Hermione," Ron suggested, smiling. Hermione immediately let go.

"You're as good at that as Mrs. Weasley, I swear." Harry's eyes gained a teasing glint. "Perhaps because sometime soon you'll probably _be_ 'Mrs. Weasley' . . ."

Ron and Hermione flushed. Everyone else laughed.

"What happened, Harry?" Lily asked. "We all got out of there when you said to, but you didn't follow for almost five minutes, and both you and Ginny collapsed right after you Apparated . . ."

"Damn, was it that long?" Harry muttered. "Sorry. Voldemort found me."

"And?"

Harry smirked slightly. "I riled him up a bit so he was off-balance, dodged a _Crucio_, and AK'ed his wand. It was the last bit that took all my energy—I'll explain later, when we're in a more secure area." He hadn't told most of the Pack about the Horcruxes yet—between his pack of revelations in January and James's in February, it had somewhat slipped his mind.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were smiling unabashedly; everyone else, though, looked confused.

"But why would destroying Voldemort's wand do anything?" Peter asked, puzzled. "Come to think of it, why would the Killing Curse work on an inanimate object at all?"

"That falls under the stuff I can't talk about in here. Let's just say Voldemort is now only three steps away from mortality, as opposed to the five he was before we got here. What else has been going on?"

"Not much," said James. "Things have been pretty subdued around here. The _Daily Prophet_ printed a woefully inaccurate piece about the attack, everyone's pretty happy Dumbledore managed to stop it, classes have been normal—you missed a few days of work, but nothing you can't make up. No sign of Snape yet, and we told Dumbledore what he did. We were only gone for about six hours, you know—no time for people to really get worried—and no one died."

"That's good." Harry sighed tiredly; maybe Dumbledore was right about his needing more rest. "Remus? How was, er, the night of the 30th for you?"

Remus smiled. "Just fine. We got out ten minutes or so before moonrise, and with Danger nearby I was able to do the invisible-wolf-goes-into-Gryffindor-Tower thing again. We actually managed to get into the Den before Madam Pomfrey found us—she was none too happy next morning, though, let me tell you."

"_What_ were you saying now, Remus?" Madam Pomfrey asked accusingly as she walked out of her office.

Remus gulped.

Harry stifled a snicker. _Life is back to normal, it seems._

_Well, normal as it ever will get, at any rate._

_And I couldn't be gladder._

* * *

(A/N: **_Large parts of this chapter—the oath-swearing and all the scenes with the Founders—were based very closely on Chapters 38, 40, 42, and 44 of "Living with Danger." They belong to Anne Walsh._**

So . . . some action, Snape proves his loyalties—or does he?—and the Pack has formed in earnest. Things are just beginning to get messy.

Next chapter: "Unraveling the Future," which finishes up Part 1 of "The Twist of Time"! Coming to a computer near you in probably a week or so, or more, or less.

Review!)


	10. Unraveling the Future

**Chapter 10: Unraveling the Future**.

"Be welcome, all, to this den-night. We are Pack now, Pack together."

"Pack forever," eleven voices answered.

"All right." Harry sighed deeply. "I called an unscheduled den-night because I know there's a lot we need to talk about, this is the best place to do it, and I have a feeling the one a week ago was rather stilted with two of us unconscious."

"How did you ever guess?" Aletha asked sarcastically.

"Right. Anyway, there's a good bit of stuff we need to talk about—a lot of it is news to me, too—but the most important is this. Right now, Voldemort is immortal."

A few members of the Pack gasped or cringed. "What do you mean?" asked Peter nervously.

"I mean," said Harry, "that if you were to hit him with a Killing Curse, he wouldn't die. He would lose his body, but he could possess things, wreak general havoc . . . one of his followers could get him a new body . . ." He carefully avoided looking at Peter as he said this. _He may be different, but still—bad memories._

"So we're doomed, then?" asked Sirius.

"No, not at all!" Hermione huffed. "Honestly, just _listen_, Sirius! He _can_ be defeated; it's just very, very hard."

Harry grinned a bit. "Hermione's right. As for how he got that way . . . there is a way—really Dark magic, but do you think Voldemort cared about that?—to use a murder to split your soul and imprison half of it in an object of some sort. If you die, it'll act as a 'tether' of sorts and keep your spirit from moving on, unless someone finds and destroys the object. A few Dark wizards in history have made one—it's an almost unspeakable act, from what Dumbledore says, and it's been a banned subject at Hogwarts since before Voldemort went here." He paused for a second, grim. "Voldemort liked to outdo everyone. He wanted a _seven_-part soul."

"WHAT?" Lily shouted, horrified.

"Voldemort planned to make six Horcruxes—that's what the objects are called," Harry continued, seeing Sirius's eyes light up. "Yes, Sirius, the note you found comes in here somewhere. He's only made five so far; he planned to use Dumbledore's death to make the sixth, I think, until he heard the prophecy—now he wants it to be me."

Silence reigned for a minute as the Pack digested the information.

"Do we know what they are?" Danger asked finally.

Harry smiled widely. "Yes, actually, thanks to this." He tapped his scar. "It gives me a mental connection with Voldemort—unconscious Legilimency—and on the night some Death Eater told him the prophecy, he got excited and started thinking about them, with me accidentally watching. That's why I've been studying Occlumency—because I'm worried it will go the other way. But basically: the Gaunt ring and his wand are destroyed, the Slytherin locket is in a cave I'll be visiting this summer, the diary is with Lucius Malfoy, and the Hufflepuff cup is hidden in the Muggle orphanage he grew up in."

"He grew up in a Muggle orphanage?" Rachel asked, amazed. "I had no idea, he's so pureblood-supremacist—how on Earth did he get to be so evil?"

Harry shruged. "Yep, his pureblood Slytherin-Heir mum died in childbirth, and she had seduced his dad, a rich young Muggle named Tom Riddle, with a love potion—he left her as soon as it wore off."

"Ironic, isn't it?" Ginny laughed. "Lord Voldemort, bastion of the 'terrify-and-purify-the-Wizarding-World' cause at the moment, is one of the people he hates. And I'm sure he'd just _love_ for the Death Eaters to know that."

"He's hiding behind a pseudonym," Rachel said matter-of-factly. "He hated who he was. He thinks he's changed it. Really, though, he hasn't."

"Half-Blood Prince," Ron muttered furiously.

"What?"

"The Half-Blood Prince," he repeated more loudly. "What Snape calls himself. He's a half-blood, and his mum was Eileen Prince, but really, the similarities with old Tommy boy are amazing . . ."

"Don't be so harsh, Ron," Lily chided.

James frowned. "Harsh? Lily, Snape is a Death Eater! He betrayed us all!"

"James, I _know_ Snape. He's a snarky git sometimes—all right, a lot of the time. And I won't deny that he's rather . . . fascinated with Dark magic, but he's not _evil_."

Sirius snorted. "Lily, people don't join up with Voldemort out of the goodness of their hearts."

Lily eyed him dangerously. "You have always hated Snape, Sirius, James—and I'll admit you're probably right to, with the way he treats you. But there's a _large_ difference between a schoolboy grudge and actual evil. Snape has to live with his Prince grandparents, who he hates—it's quite possible they've forced him into this, they're very big on the whole pureblood superiority thing."

"Or, much more simply, he's just a Dark wizard who happens to be good at potions!" James shot back hotly.

"Dark wizard? Perhaps, in the sense of 'one who uses Dark magic'. _Evil_ wizard? Of course not."

"What's the difference?" Ron blurted.

Lily sighed. "Dark magic just refers to an older type of magic, that tends to be more focused on, well, hurting people, unbreakable bonds, _powerful_ stuff like that. If there was a wizard who went around systematically casting _Wingardium Leviosa_ to float people out their windows and drop them, wouldn't you say he's evil?"

"Well, yeah."

"He's not a Dark wizard, though. _Wingardium Leviosa_ is a perfectly Light spell, and it can still harm, even kill." Ron blinked. "Ultimately, magic is just magic—it's your _intent_ that matters."

"Then why does the Ministry always talk about 'catching Dark wizards'?" Aletha asked.

"Simple. Dark magic is addictive. Unless a Dark wizard has strong self-discipline and people to keep him on the right track, it's very easy for him to start using his magic for harm. _That_'s what the Aurors have to stop."

Most of the Pack was nodding in agreement, but James and Sirius still looked unconvinced.

Remus smiled wryly at them. "James, Sirius, do you think I'm evil?"

"Of course not!" they responded hotly.

"Yet I'm officially a 'Dark Creature'."

_That_ did it.

"Guys," Harry said carryingly, "ultimately we can't know Snape's loyalties at the moment. I agree there's a chance he's not completely evil, but I'm also not going to forget how he duped me—duped all of us, even Dumbledore—in the old timeline. In the mean time, let's not argue about it."

"All right," James said reluctantly. "Let's see . . . Where were you when you were unconscious?"

Harry grinned. "Now _that_'s what I was hoping for. Short answer: A sort of dream-higher-reality thing where the Founders live."

"The Founders?" Ron blurted. "Like, the actual Founders?"

Ginny smiled. "Yep. Godric and his son Paul and daughter Maura. Helga and her son Adam. Rowena and her daughters Brenna, Sophia, and Margaret—the last of which is a Squib, and originally owned that brooch of yours, Aletha. And Slytherin's 'good son', who you already know."

"We already know him? How? He's dead!" Hermione was terribly confused by now.

"Well, he's currently inhabiting the Slytherin bedroom . . ."

"What— _oh._ Alex."

"Indeed, Hermione," came the portrait's voice.

"And," Ginny continued, "let's just say they managed to nip Harry's hero complex in the bud."

Hermione looked impressed. "How'd they manage _that_?"

"Offered me the chance to stay there, said it would keep the rest of you safe," Harry said sheepishly. "I'm ashamed to say I was actually about to accept the offer before Ginny arrived and set me straight."

"And I still don't know how I managed to get there," Ginny finished. **Would you like to tell them about the gifts, love?**

**Right after Hermione starts grilling us about it. Which should be in, oh—**

"Harry?" Hermione asked quickly. "Why are your eyes doing that? And Ginny's, too."

Both of them burst out laughing.

"The Founders gave us some gifts," Ginny explained. "This one, which was just for us, is a mindlink like Remus and Danger have. We laughed because Harry just told me you would be grilling us about it. The rest are for our pendants."

**I have an idea.** "Allow me to demonstrate." Harry grabbed his pendant chain and put it over Hermione's head. **Can you hear this?** he said in her mind.

Hermione jumped. "What— oh— Harry! You can talk with these things?"

**It's the Ravenclaw gift.**

"He says it's the Ravenclaw gift. Why would that be useful, though?"

"Try it on Neenie," Harry said aloud.

Hermione dutifully transformed after about ten seconds' mental recitation. **I think the chain might have slipped off.**

"No, it hasn't."

Neenie transformed back. "That's amazing!" she breathed.

"You haven't seen the half of it," Ginny said with a wicked grin. **Intangibility?**

**Of course.** Harry gave the chain a tug, and Hermione shrieked as it went _through_ her neck.

"Oh, I must've forgotten to mention they're intangible as you want them to be," Harry said with mock contrition. "Slytherin gift. Hufflepuff's is that the chains can grow and come apart; Gryffindor's is that they heat up when one of us is upset and cool down when we're in mortal peril. The carving glows for whoever it is."

"And I think that's it," Ginny finished. "Any questions?"

Danger spoke up. "Yeah, one. Which carving is which?"

"We honestly don't know," Harry said, shrugging. "Haven't exactly had much time to look at them together. Although we probably will be able to figure them out, and it'd be useful to know . . ."

Hermione's and Danger's eyes light up.

**Like sister, like sister.**

Ginny laughed mentally as Hermione started chattering away and examining her pendants and Ron's. **Now that's one I haven't heard before. Although that reminds me, I've been thinking . . . Ever wonder what would happen if Danger's parents had died in 1981 or so? Her powers would've been awakened and she would've had the dreams—**

**Which would have showed Sirius's innocence. And from the way Danger described them, they were so persistent she'd have found him or Remus or Aletha or _someone_ eventually.**

**Or maybe you.**

"Danger?" Harry asked.

She looked up from her pendants. "Yes?"

"Where did you live before—well, you know."

Danger laughed. "Oh, I was wondering when you'd ask. Number seventeen, Privet Drive. Opposite side of the street from you."

Harry goggled at her. **Okay, _definitely_ me. That's . . . weird, but amazing. Odd to think how close I was to having a real family growing up . . .**

**You have one still,** Ginny said sharply. **James. Lily. Sirius.** Then, a thought so quiet Harry almost wasn't sure he heard it. **Me.**

**Thanks,** he said warmly. **You're right. About _all_ of it.**

Ginny's grin must have doubled in size.

"Well, I think we've figured out the pendants," Hermione announced.

"Great. What are they?"

"The first one is birth parents, it seems. Danger and I have the same one—book for David, rose for Rose Granger. And Ron's are a battery, for Arthur probably, and a muffin tin for Molly. What are yours, Harry?"

Harry looked. "Stag and tiger."

"That seems to bear out that theory, then. Second one is wolf, lion, rat, and owl on one side, dog, winged horse, stag, and tiger on the other. So all the in-time members of the Pack—the Marauders and their girlfriends." Aletha glared at her. "Sorry, and Aletha."

Harry snickered mentally. **Why do I have a feeling the last member of the might-have-been Pack we were discussiong would have been a certain Ms. Freeman?**

**You're not the only one. The only ones who don't know it are themselves. They remind me of Ron and Hermione, only even more stubborn.**

**You've got _that_ right, love.**

Hermione continued her explanation. "The third one is for us time-travelers. Wolf and lynx on one side, hawk and cat on the other—mine seems to be missing the cat for some reason, I have no idea why . . ."

"Hermione, I think you'll know if _you_'re in mortal peril," Ron said, deadpan.

"Oh. Didn't think of that. Anyway, the fourth pendant—the last one—I have no clue about. Bird with flames, a phoenix maybe; a crow or raven; and on the other side, another cat and a lizard or dragon or something."

Harry thought for a moment. "People who we trust with our secrets—or most of them, at least," he decided. "Pack-friends, let's call them. Phoenix for Dumbledore, cat for McGonagall, dragon for Hagrid. No idea about the crow."

"Well, I think that's it for the serious stuff," Ginny said, grinning. "Have fun, people!"

Harry waved his wand and summoned one of the books on canine Animagi. **All right, time to get to work on my transformation . . .**

**Hey! That doesn't qualify as fun!**

**It's also something I'd like to get done reasonably soon, and we don't have many chances to work on it—not with N.E.W.T.s coming up.**

**Oh, all right.** A mental smirk. **But you'd better not be so serious all night long . . .**

**Yes, ma'am!**

Some time later, Hermione remembered something. "Oh! Harry, you and Ginny missed your career advice sessions with McGonagall. They were scheduled for Tuesday and, well, you were in the hospital wing then."

Harry adopted a pensive look. "Honestly, I don't really know what I want to do next year. I'm planning on joining the Aurors after that; the year off is because I have a feeling at least one of the Marauders has similar plans, and I'd rather fight with people I know." He looked curiously at said Marauders.

Sirius raised his hand. "Auror," he said, unusually serious. "It's what I've wanted to do for as long as I can remember. Especially with Voldemort having so much influence with my _dear_ old family; I guess I want to break away from that, or something . . . It's just always appealed to me, for a lot of reasons."

"Good a reason as any I've heard, if you can articulate it a bit better in an interview," James teased.

**Now, Harry, what are you _really_ planning for next year? I can tell there's something you're not saying here.**

Harry sighed. **Promise you won't laugh?**

**Of course,** Ginny responded sincerely.

**Teaching.**

**Teaching—oh! You want to do Defense next year?**

**Well, yeah.** Harry seemed a bit embarrassed to say it. **I mean, you all say I've done such a good job with the D.A., and I really like teaching Defense, and hopefully this would help everyone be better-prepared for the big mean world out there . . .**

**You're rambling, love.**

**Sorry. Anyway, I'm thinking I'll ask Dumbledore about it during our next lesson. Which is in three days, I think.**

**Two,** Ginny corrected.

Harry looked at his watch—Remus had given him a new one for Christmas—and saw that it was half midnight.

**You're right. I never realized it was so late.** Harry looked at the other two seventh-years in their group. "So, Ron, Hermione, what are you planning on doing?"

"I planned to do something with Experimental Charms in the Ministry," Hermione said, looking a bit proud. "McGonagall thought I'd do great with it."

"So do I. You're brilliant, Hermione. And, well," Ron said sheepishly, "I still want to be an Auror. I know I'm not as good as you, Harry—"

"Bollocks, Ron," James snapped. "You were leading us damn well when Harry was out last Saturday. It's like with your Keeping—you just need to trust yourself."

The red-haired boy grinned self-deprecatingly. "I guess you're right. Anyway, I guess I could get a simple job next year—working at Zonko's, maybe. Fred and George taught me more than I said last summer. Because honestly, mate, I'd much rather do Auror training at the same time as you. More fun that way."

"Well, that's that, then," Harry said. "Us outgoing seventh years won't be out in the cold in a couple months."

"As long as you do well on your N.E.W.T.s!" piped Hermione.

Harry groaned softly. **N.E.W.T.s. Easily twice or three times as bad as O.W.L.s, I swear. At least there aren't so many of them.**

**And at least you aren't studying every waking minute like someone else we know.**

**True, that.**

Danger yawned enormously, lay her head against Remus's shoulder, and seemed to fall asleep. Barely three seconds later, she spoke tiredly. "In time, the raven will take his place with honor beside the phoenix, the dragon, and the cat." She blinked a few times, then noticed everyone was staring at her. "What? Did I say something?"

Remus repeated the words of the prophecy to her. "So I guess that means our unidentified bird is a raven, and he's not really our friend _yet_."

"Interesting," Lily mused. She had a pretty good idea who the corvid was, but it wasn't something she planned to say in front of James and Sirius.

Harry yawned as well. "It's past midnight," he said tiredly. "I bid you good night and fair dreams. May the coming night rest us all, and we rise in the morning stronger for it."

"May it be so," the Pack answered.

_It's weird how these odd-seeming formalities just seem to be _right_; we always know what to say . . ._

Harry lay down right where he was, which happened to be right next to Ginny.

_Not that I mind._

He fell asleep almost instantly.

* * *

Severus Snape walked along moodily, kicking at loose cobblestones as he passed.

_I am an idiot._

_A complete, utter, stinking, bloody, worse-than-Sirius-Black idiot._

For the umpteenth time, his mind drifted to the traumatic events of the past few days. After Potter (both of them) and his friends had escaped the Dark Lord, he had been furious—and the Dark Lord's fury was something few sane wizards dared brave.

_Except Lestrange. I swear, she seemed practically _happy _to be tortured._

_Of course, she's not exactly sane either._

Few of the newer Death Eaters, Snape realized, had ever seen the Dark Lord actually _angry_. Disappointed, yes, after a failed mission or thwarted spying—and the Dark Lord's "disappointed" was painful indeed—but actually _angry_? Not before. Never like this, even according to the veterans like Macnair.

_It would seem that Potter did a lot more than just escape, with the way he's been ranting._

Barely five minutes after Snape fled in the wake of the calling in of his life debt, his Dark Mark had burned much more fiercely than usual—the Dark Lord wanted them _now_, consequences be damned.

He had dutifully Apparated mid-run.

Voldemort was in the Death Eaters' meeting room, pacing back and forth as he addressed them angrily. "Can't you fools get anything _right_?" he had hissed. "Twelve _teenagers_ in warded cells! And they all got away—got through the Mark wards, got their wands, one of them even insulted me! You, my 'loyal servants'—a bigger bunch of _fools_ I could not have hand-picked!"

"My Lord?" one of the Death Eaters had said tentatively. "One of the girls—the bushy-haired one—she's an Animagus, she can transform into a cat. She surprised me, stole my wand—"

"And how, pray tell, did she 'surprise' you? She was polite, too, left your wand in the Entrance Hall—I suppose you shall get it back eventually . . . after I get some use out of it . . ."

The Death Eater looked decidedly nervous. "I picked her up in cat form, my Lord. I thought you would appreciate such a creature, perhaps to experiment on—"

"Fools!" Voldemort had bellowed. "Utter fools! What use could I ever have for a _cat_? No, you endangered our whole base! You should be punished—and you will. _Crucio!_"

It was then that Severus Snape had realized, the hard way, that the "you" in that speech was plural. And that Lord Voldemort was more than powerful enough to sustain a Cruciatus Curse on multiple people at once.

In spite of the warm air, Snape shivered in remembrance of the events that had followed. The Dark Lord had sealed the wards around his base, trapping them all in their own rooms, and had called each one privately and individually, over the course of a few days . . . somehow, he had discovered the life debt that had' enabled Potter and his friends to escape, and had tortured him, Snape, on and off for over a day . . .

The Dark Lord's final words still rang in his mind. "_I am most displeased, Snape. Most displeased indeed. I am beginning, indeed, to doubt your loyalty to me. So I leave you three days to consider the consequences of your actions, and to provide proof of your trustworthiness. Torture and kill a family of Muggles, perhaps? Imaginatively, of course; I do require some shred of intelligence in my followers. And if you should try to escape . . . I doubt I need even complete that sentence."_

_And I couldn't do it. I sealed the house—this dingy little place on a dingy little street called Spinner's End—Apparated in in the middle of the night, and I couldn't bring myself to do it. Oh, I scared them plenty, but I couldn't do what the Dark Lord asked._

One word had emblazoned itself in Snape's brain over the past day: _Why?_ _I've used the spells before, I know how they work, how they _feel—_that's what made me join the Dark Lord in the first place—I even tortured the werewolf a little, just for fun. He deserved it. They didn't._

That last thought surprised him, and he snorted. _Since when did I develop a conscience?_

But he already knew why, really. It was the same way his mother had died. The attack in the middle of the night, the jet of green light, and the first, last, and only person who loved him was dead . . .

_When I heard what had happened, I swore revenge on Mum's killers. I swore that if I ever met them, I would kill them or worse._

_And now I've become one of them._

_All for—what was it again? Oh yes. **Feeling powerful.**_

_I have never made such a bad decision in my life. Not even Black's telling me about the Willow compares. He could have ruined my life. I _would _have ruined dozens, or more—and probably my own._

_And now I have nowhere to go._ This last, sobering thought was what he had been trying to avoid all day—trying to rationalize that he had just panicked momentarily, that he would do better tonight and make the Dark Lord proud. None of it was true. The truth was that he hated what he'd become, and now he would die for it. Painfully.

_Because what other choice is there? The Dark Lord would kill me. Dumbledore would turn me over to the Ministry for a life sentence in Azkaban, which is even worse. I used the Cruciatus Curse. The werewolf knows, and he's probably told Dumbledore already. That's an automatic conviction right there._

Snape sighed, agonized. _Where do I go from here?_

* * *

Harry listened tiredly as Professor Johnson droned on about the N.E.W.T.s. "If you have studied the theory thoroughly, you should have no issues with the practical part of the exam, which will consist of a staged duel with the examiner . . ."

**I swear, he's worse than Binns,** Harry remarked mentally. **I think we're going to have another Umbridge-type score fiasco.**

**All E's and O's for the D.A., A's or failing for everyone else?**

**Exactly. Applications must be running pretty thin, if Dumbledore let _him_ teach Defense. He may know a bit of what he's talking about, but he can't teach worth a damn.**

**Well, Harry, you know exactly how to rectify that.**

**Yeah. Tonight.** He smiled slightly; he was looking forward to this particular lesson with Dumbledore, although his excitement was tinged with a bit of apprehension . . .

All other thoughts were rendered moot, though, as Harry's pendants heated almost to the point of pain. He winced, and saw that Ron and Hermione did too. A quick thought brought the pendants through his robes, and Harry spread them out surreptitiously in a hand under his desk, searching for the light. _Fine— fine— fine— oh._ **It's our unidentified raven,** he told Ginny. **Not really much we can do at the moment.**

Sighing, he focused his attention back on the still-droning professor.

* * *

Having realized the magnitude of his problem, Snape was feeling quite desperate.

_I would do anything I could for you, Dumbledore, if only you'd trust me. Believe it or not, I do trust you. You've helped me out before; if only I hadn't been so stupid as to dig myself a hole too deep to climb out of . . ._

A surprising flash of fire heralded the arrival of a very welcome immortal bird.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, for the moment unaware of the loyalty he had inspired. He was employing a rather welcome few unoccupied minutes to ponder the Death Eater attack of nine days past.

_On the whole, I am glad indeed that all twelve of the captured students escaped unharmed._

_If only I could be so confident about the fates of the others missing . . ._

Aside from Severus Snape, Patroclus Nott and a few other Slytherin seventh-years had not been seen since leaving for Hogsmeade that day. A small number of Hogsmeade residents had been found dead outside the Three Broomsticks, apparently due to the _Avada Kedavra_ curse, but no Hogwarts students were among them.

_No, Lord Voldemort can be as ruthless to his followers as to his enemies. I find I must fear the worst about these students' fates; it may be that no one is irredeemable, but even if they remain alive, I cannot in good conscience allow Death Eaters back into the school . . ._

It saddened the wise Headmaster more than he cared to admit that Severus Snape, especially, had chosen the Dark Lord's path. _After all the support I tried to give him, he still ultimately made the one decision I truly hoped he would not. Perhaps I am growing incompetent in my old age._

_I wonder what Harry would have to say about this twist of Severus's loyalties . . ._

Suddenly, Fawkes disappeared in a flash of flame, and reappeared some ten seconds later with a passenger in tow.

"Severus?" Dumbledore asked, not bothering to mask the trace of astonishment from his voice. The boy looked terrible—his robes were dirty, to be sure, but that was nothing compared to the utterly despondent state of his features. With many, many years of experience in the subject, Albus Dumbledore considered himself rather skilled at reading people, and Severus Snape was practically emanating regret.

"Well, I suppose your bloody bird decided to be the arbiter of justice for me," Snape said bitingly. Dumbledore was rather surprised at his tone—he knew quite well how snarky the boy could be with his peers, but in the past that attitude had been mostly left at the door of his office. "Go ahead, throw me in Azkaban—you have enough evidence, don't you? Your poster child for Dark-Is-Not-Evil, despite all your recommendations, _still_—" He broke off, seemingly unable to complete his sentence.

"I will do no such thing, Severus, certainly not without knowing the circumstances," Dumbledore said calmly. "Please sit." _And perhaps one of the foolish may be saved after all . . ._

Snape, who had been looking at his feet since arriving in Dumbledore's office, finally met the Headmaster's gaze as he sat in front of his desk. "Circumstances? I'm a Death Eater, Professor. Have been since Easter break. It was the most idiotic decision I've made, and in hindsight I think I might've been influenced by the atmosphere in the Dark Lord's base—it practically reeked of Dark and power—but that doesn't matter, does it? I even failed at being a Death Eater. Didn't have the stomach for what the Dark Lord required of me. Damned if I do, damned if I don't."

"Why would you say that, Severus? Surely you know my belief that no one is irredeemable."

Snape laughed harshly. "I used an Unforgivable Curse, Professor. That's a life sentence in Azkaban, no question. No offense intended, but I don't see what you can do about _that_."

Dumbledore sighed. "It is as I said before, Severus: _no one_ is irredeemable. Have you used any of these curses on anyone besides Remus?"

"No."

"No law is outside the realm of extenuating circumstances, Severus. Remus is not the sort to hold a grudge. If you could find it in your heart to forgive him, I believe he would do the same for you."

"Forgive him? Professor, he almost killed me!"

"In a form over which he had no control," Dumbledore amended softly but firmly. "If you want to blame anyone—and I would much rather you did not—you should blame Mr. Black; it was he who acted without thought in this matter."

"But he's a danger—"

Dumbledore smiled slightly at the unintentional pun. "Severus, detail-oriented as you are, I am sure you have noticed that Remus has not been absent since the unfortunate incident you speak of. Surely you are capable of understanding what this means."

Snape thought for a second, then gaped. "He's been cured? That's impossible!"

"Remus has not been cured per se; he still transforms on full moon nights, but he keeps his human mind while he does so. It is a remarkable case, probably unique, and ultimately Remus's secret, to tell or not as he chooses. I will echo the words of a dear friend of mind, as I believe they are greatly applicable in this case: Do not be too quick to deal out death and judgement, for even the very wise cannot see all ends. Please, Severus, try to let go of your grudge against Remus, and make your decisions wisely."

Snape was silent for a moment, digesting the advice. "Perhaps. In any case, I'm not sure how this helps me. The Dark Lord will still be able to find me, and since I can't do what he asked, I'm sure he'll kill me. If I'm at Hogwarts, he'll only wait until I'm in Hogsmeade or on the train to do it. And I'm still amazed you're being so Gryffindorish as to trust that my remorse is genuine, Professor. It is, but I rather expected some sort of test."

"Over the years, Severus, I have become quite adept at reading body language, and you certainly seem to be sincere. In general, I find it best to learn all the pertinent facts before making any sort of judgement. But you are right: as much as I wish I could take you on your word, your being a Death Eater throws that into a bit of question. If you are sincere in your regret, we will hopefully arrive at a mutually acceptable situation."

Dumbledore paused for a moment, thinking, then continued. "As for how you could survive, Severus . . . I would hesitate to ask this of anyone, least of all a student, but your situation leaves room for few other alternatives. I shall be blunt. Have you considered being a double agent? A spy, in simpler terms."

Snape blinked. "Of course I've considered it, but I don't think it's possible. The Dark Lord seems to know what people are thinking—I know he ferreted out at least one spy during his interrogations of us, he told me so."

"Indeed, Lord Voldemort is probably the most accomplished Legilimens the world has seen," Dumbledore agreed ruefully. "However, there is an art called Occlumency that allows one to present a false front, and I happen to be quite skilled in it; if it is your wish to follow this path, I would consent to teach you."

"I will, Professor," Snape said in an instant. His voice was firm. "I understand the risks, but this is honestly better than anything I could have hoped for." He paused for a second. "Maybe my life won't be happy, but it will at least be meaningful. Under the circumstances, that suits me fine."

"Thank you, Severus. It is more than I have any right to ask, but it will certainly be appreciated. And now . . . will you consent to swear a loyalty oath? I apologize for asking, but I believe it is necessary for us to trust one another."

"Of course, Professor."

_He really does mean this,_ Dumbledore realized. _Perhaps this is one of the changes effected by the presence of our four time-travelers—or perhaps not. I can see now how Harry's perception of events in the future might have been skewed._

_And now to decide what oath to use . . ._ He thought for a few seconds, and finally hit upon the right one. "Perhaps you will take some solace in the fact that it goes both ways; that is, I will be bound to you as surely as you will be to me."

Waving his wand, Dumbledore conjured a napkin and a small knife. "First, we must give of ourselves." He made a cut in his palm with the knife, allowing his blood to drip onto the napkin, then motioned for Severus to do so as well. The latter added his blood without flinching. Two silent spells from the Headmaster healed both their cuts.

Dumbledore snapped his fingers. Kady the house-elf appeared.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, sir, what can I be doing for you?"

"Kady, could you please ask Harry Potter and Remus Lupin to come to my office immediately?" he asked gently. "Tell them to just come in."

"Of course, Headmaster Dumbledore, sir! Kady will be doing that right away, sir!"

"Thank you, Kady."

The house-elf disappeared with a soft _pop_.

Dumbledore returned his attention to the young man sitting determinedly before him. _And a larger burden I doubt any student has had to bear . . ._

"We will now swear an oath," he said, recalling the same words he had spoken with his brother over a century ago. "Hear me speak it now, and consider it carefully. If you are not wholly comfortable swearing this oath with me, depart now. For it is binding by magic, and he who breaks it shall not find rest, by day or by night, in life or in death. Hear me now—

"My hand in yours,

"My wand with yours,

"My life for yours,

"Now and always.

"Severus, do you wish to swear?"

"I do," Snape said clearly.

"Then join hands with me and speak the oath with me three times, to make it truly binding upon the both of us."

Solemnly, Headmaster and protégé clasped hands and began to recite.

* * *

Kady appeared right in the middle of Defense class.

"What do you want, elf?" Professor Johnson said harshly. Hermione scowled at him.

Kady was undeterred. "I is having a message for Harry Potter, sir, and it is this: Please go to the Headmaster's office immediately. He is asking you to come right in."

Harry smiled. "Thanks, Kady." As Kady disappeared, Harry packed his bag quickly and rose to leave.

"Mr. Potter!" Professor Johnson called. "I would recommend that you get notes from one of your classmates. The Patronus Charm is immensely—"

_Oh, just shut up already._ Peeved, Harry took out his wand and waved it. _Expecto Patronum!_ A large silver phoenix burst from the tip.

As Johnson worked to regain his composure, Harry left the room and ran toward Dumbledore's office. _He wouldn't've called me in the middle of class unless it was urgent . . . maybe they've found Snape . . ._

**Wouldn't that be nice,** Ginny's voice broke in. **I'm more curious about your Patronus, though. When did you learn to do it nonverbally?**

Harry grinned. **I didn't,** he responded. **I was just so mad at Professor Johnson I couldn't talk.**

Ginny laughed just as Harry reached the gargoyle. He belted out the password and forced himself to slow down as he walked up the moving staircase.

The door was closed, and voices were coming from inside. _Well, Kady said to come right in . . ._

Harry opened the door, stepped inside—and nearly fell over in surprise. Snape was sitting on one side of the Headmaster's desk, Dumbledore on the other, a very familiar-looking red-and-white bundle between them. They were holding hands and saying some words that Harry never expected to fly from Snape's mouth especially:

"—_with yours,_"

"_My life for yours,_"

"_Now and always!_"

The bloody napkin burst into flame for a moment, was consumed, and the fire died off. In its place, Harry saw, was a small golden chain and pendant in the shape of a phoenix. Dumbledore was regarding it curiously. Neither of them seemed to have noticed his entrance.

"What is it, sir?" Snape asked.

"A sign," Dumbledore said absently. He looked up. "It is meant for you, Severus. I care not whether or not you choose to wear it, but I would advise you not to allow anyone else to see it. Being a spy is never easy . . . Consider it, if you will, a reminder of your true loyalties."

"Thank you, Professor." He took the pendant carefully, almost reverently, and put it on under his robes.

Dumbledore suddenly seemed to notice the presence of another person in the room. "Oh, hello, Harry. Are you satisfied that Severus is, indeed, loyal to the Light?" Snape whirled around as soon as Harry's name was mentioned.

Harry blinked. "Yes, more than. Sn– Severus—" he returned the gaze of the slightly greasy-haired boy (_no, man—he's spying for Voldemort, more than I could do_) determinedly— "it seems I was wrong about you. I believed you loyal to Voldemort, a traitor now and in the future. I apologize."

"How kind of you, Potter." Snape sneered slightly as he spoke, but it still seemed genuine. "How did you recognize that oath from only hearing part of it, anyway? I have never heard of it before. I seriously doubt that such a person as you would have."

Harry smiled slightly. "I took it. Me, the other four new students, the Marauders, Lily Evans, Aletha Freeman, and Rachel Trent." He willed his pendants through his robes and showed them to Snape. "You're on here, you know, next to the phoenix for Dumbledore," he said, indicating the fourth pendant. "The last Pack-friend. I'm glad you came through."

"I have no need for such silly distinctions," Snape said acerbically.

Harry shrugged. "As you wish. I'm not looking for friendship. Lack of enmity works fine." He noticed, though, that Snape looked somewhat impressed against his will; perhaps he had underestimated the maturity of the Pack. _We all have some preconceptions to correct._

At that moment, Remus walked in the door. "Sorry I'm so late, Professor, I had to come all the way from Transfiguration—" His sweeping gaze took in Dumbledore, Harry, and Snape, none apparently looking ready to kill another. "I feel like I'm missing something here."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in that inscrutable way of his as he responded. "To put it simply, Severus has recanted his actions, sworn the Founders' Oath with me, and agreed to serve as a spy within Voldemort's ranks. I, in turn, have agreed to support him and teach him Occlumency."

"So it is," Remus said neutrally.

Snape turned to look at him properly. "Er— Lupin— Remus?"

"Yes, Severus?"

Snape gulped. "I apologize for using the Cruciatus Curse on you. It was wrong of me to do, rather connected to the larger wrong of agreeing to join the Dark Lord in the first place. I will admit I have hated you quite a lot since learning of your—_condition_—and I will also admit, now, that I was wrong to do so. You were not at fault for the incident in October." He smirked slightly. "_That_ dubious honor belongs to Sirius Black."

Remus was silent for a long moment. "For what it's worth, I forgive you, Severus," he said somberly. "None of us are without are mistakes; you're doing more than most people ever would to atone for them. And thank you for your understanding."

_This—any of it—is not even remotely close to what I expected,_ Harry mused.

Snape managed a grunt of "You're welcome" before turning back to face the Headmaster. "Professor, where do you want me to stay while you're teaching me Occlumency? The Slytherin dungeons might not be the best option, considering the affiliation of some of the sixth- and seventh-years; they are sure to know of my reputation with the Dark Lord by now."

"That is a good point, Severus, and one which I did not think of. You should be able to stay in my quarters; I have a good deal of extra rooms. Just say 'Sanctuary' to the portrait of that red-robed man over there. Feel free to take a look now."

Snape evidently saw the portrait Dumbledore was referring to, because he walked over to it and was heard to do as recommended, but Fawkes's stand obscured Harry's view.

Harry's eyes fell on the fireplace and an idea formed. _We never managed to activate the last entrance, and this certainly seems a fitting spot for it . . ._ "Excuse me, Professor? Could I try something?"

"Of course, Harry," Dumbledore responded twinklingly.

_I have no idea if this is even right, but it's worth a try._ "Thank you, Helga."

_And—_

A chunk of stone slid out from beside the fireplace. Remus whistled appreciatively.

"Great, it worked. Thank you, Helga." The passageway closed back off.

"Harry—may I inquire as to what that was?"

Harry smiled. "Of course. There's a set of hidden rooms inside the school—four bedrooms in the House colors, a kitchen, a library, a Quidditch pitch, and a bathroom, branching out from a center room that changes itself to however you want it. Each of the rooms has an entrance somewhere in the school."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled more strongly than Harry had ever seen them. "I have heard rumors of such a place; perhaps 'legends' would be a better term. The place I believe you have discovered was once known as the Heart of Hogwarts."

"Yeah, Kady called it that," Harry said absently, wondering where Dumbledore was going with this.

"Amazing. Simply amazing." Dumbledore sighed happily. "It was crafted by the four Founders working together, as a place of rest and tranquility. One of the most ancient stories of the school's founding claims that after the castle was finished, as a private finale to the ceremonies which marked its opening, the Founders entered the Heart of Hogwarts with their grown children and swore again to one another the oath the original four had sworn before beginning to build the castle."

"They swore it in blood?" Remus asked. "'My hand in yours' and all that?"

"So it is said. And it is said as well that the stones of that place recall both that ancient oath and its breaking, and that the Heart of Hogwarts rose up in rebellion and sealed itself away until such time as true Heirs to the Founders, both in blood and in heart, should come to Hogwarts again."

"And that's us?" Harry breathed.

"There can be no question," Dumbledore said. "We already know both you and James are Heirs of Gryffindor, and there may be other Heirs among you as well—these things have a tendency to remain hidden until they are needed. Regardless, all twelve of the Pack, as I believe you have taken to calling yourselves, are most certainly Heirs in heart to the noblest traditions of the Founders: the qualities upon which the Houses are based. You may consider the Heart of Hogwarts your sanctuary, after a fashion; none may harm you while you are within its walls. It is yours by right."

"Amazing," Remus said softly. Harry was inclined to agree.

_The castle was waiting for me? Waiting for _us?

_I have a good feeling about this future._

* * *

That night, Harry finished a Transfiguration essay just as seven o'clock rolled around.

"All right, guys, I have to go see Dumbledore," he said as he rolled up his essay and stood up. "You know the drill."

Hermione looked at her watch, then back at him. "Harry, it's barely a minute before seven o'clock! You're going to be late!"

Harry smiled and shook his head. "Nope, I've got an ace or two up my sleeve. Stealth mode. Thank you, Godric."

And with that, to all outward appearances, he disappeared, leaving a laughing Ginny to tell Hermione about his latest discovery.

Harry landed on the bed in the Gryffindor bedroom, and quickly moved from it, through the Den room, to Helga's bathroom.

_I tried 'Thank you, Helga' in here before and it didn't work, must have missed something . . ._

His eyes fell on the bathtub. _A-ha._

Stepping into the very ancient-looking porcelain fixture, he jumped slightly and said the words.

It worked. Dumbledore blinked as Harry seemed to appear out of nowhere. "Hello, Professor," the latter said slightly cheekily. "The Founders were quite remarkable in their magic, weren't they?"

"Indeed they were." Dumbledore was clearly amused. "Lemon drop, Harry?" he asked as his student sat down.

Harry smiled slightly. "No, thank you, Professor. What did you have planned for tonight?"

"In truth, nothing earth-shattering; I simply wished to discuss further some of the intricacies of removing curses. Am I correct in saying you had the chance to do a bit of ward-breaking while captured by Lord Voldemort?"

"Yeah, and it was really different, a lot more brute-force than the curses we had practiced on."

"All magic has a weak point, Harry," the aged Headmaster explained. "In a manner a bit like that of a keystone in an arch, a ward can be brought down simply by attacking it with the appropriate spells; curses, on the other hand, tend to be effectively threaded around their weak point, so that one must 'unravel' them carefully to defuse them . . . But first, I wished to discuss something else with you. I understand that your stay with Madam Pomfrey forced you to miss your career advice meeting with Professor McGonagall?"

"That's right, sir," Harry responded. "I'm planning to be an Auror, but not for another year; Sirius wanted to be one too, and I, well—" It sounded lame, even for him.

Dumbledore didn't seem to mind, though. "Perhaps you will be a good influence on young Mr. Black," he said, his expression inscrutable. "In any event, your choice leaves a convenient yearlong gap in your schedule. What is your opinion of Professor Johnson, Harry?"

The abrupt change of subject surprised Harry into telling the truth. "He's— well, a bit of an idiot, really. I don't think he's taught us anything practical all year . . ." Then he realized what he was saying, and to whom, and he covered his mouth in embarrassment.

"And for this reason, you founded the D.A.," Dumbledore concluded, not reacting to Harry's frank assessment of his Professor. "Which has been a great success by any account, I might add. You are a skilled teacher."

"Well, yeah. Thanks, sir." Harry blushed slightly under the praise, though he did wonder how the Headmaster knew about the club.

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "Surely you can tell my train of thought here, Harry?"

**You don't think—**

**I do.**

"You want me to teach Defense next year?" Harry asked, wide-eyed.

"Indeed, assuming of course that you are willing to accept the position. You would do a good deal better than Professor Johnson, to be sure, and at the rate rumors have been spreading I would count myself lucky to receive any other applications for the position."

Harry grinned widely. He fought the urge to shout "YES!" at the top of his lungs and said instead, "I'd be honored, Professor." He was proud of how composed his voice sounded. "Are you sure—"

Dumbledore answered the question before it could even be fully voiced. "Of course, Harry. I am confident you will thrive in the position, or I would not have suggested it to you."

"Then— thank you, Professor. I'll do my best to live up to your expectations."

"Indeed." Dumbledore extended his hand, smiling genially. "Welcome to the staff, Professor Potter."

Harry took it, feeling more than slightly surreal.

**So does this mean I have to call you Professor?** Ginny purred.

Harry laughed mentally. **Only in class. And you can be the one to tell Hermione the news; I have a feeling her reaction could shatter eardrums.**

Dimly, he heard Ginny doing so, and winced slightly at the result. Apparently, an intervening mind did little to muffle Hermione's delighted shriek.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "After the N.E.W.T. exams, seventh-year students have a week of classes in some of the more practical elements of magic—household charms and the like. It is my wish . . ."

Harry listened to Dumbledore's plan, and he found he liked it immensely.

_One last chance to be a positive influence while I'm still in school . . ._

_Merlin knows some of the kids here need it._

* * *

Severus Snape returned quietly to class mid-May; in truth, few had even noticed his absence. Harry and Remus's account of his loyalty oath had spread quickly among the Pack, to the degree that the return of "the greasy git" caused only mild grumbling among James and Sirius. Evidently, since said "git" was still alive, he had managed to convince Voldemort that he remained loyal. Harry had no idea how Snape had managed this, and upon a bit of thought he decided he really didn't want to know.

The seventh-years received their N.E.W.T. schedules in Transfiguration class on June 1. Much groaning ensued, especially on the part of a certain Weasley. "We have Potions _first_? That shouldn't be legal!"

"Oh, cheer up, Ron," Hermione said, exasperated. "That means it'll be over with first too. And there's only five exams this time, not ten."

"Half as many exams, maybe, but they're at least four times as hard," Harry grumbled. The three Gryffindors had been reviewing almost constantly for a week—there had come a point at which it was easier to follow Hermione's suggestions than ignore them—and they would be following a similar schedule right up to the N.E.W.T.s themselves.

"What do you need to get to be an Auror again?" Ron asked.

"At least **E** in Defense, Transfiguration, and Potions, **A** in Charms and one other subject of your choice," Harry said glumly, looking up from _Advanced Potion-Making_ (an undoctored copy, this time). "Which it will be a miracle if I score. You know how it is for me and Potions."

"Well, you know the solution to that," Hermione chirped. "Keep studying!"

Harry sighed and resumed his scouring of the text.

On the morning of June 6, the fifth- and seventh-years filed anxiously into the Entrance Hall. They were met by Griselda Marchbanks, who had apparently aged not at all in twenty years. "Your Ordinary Wizarding Levels and Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests commence today with an examination in Potions," the elderly witch said monotonously. "The theory examination is first; after my explanation is complete, please enter the Great Hall. Seventh-years, be sure to sit towards the back, it makes things easier for us. All right, in you go."

As the horde of students walked in, Harry sought eye contact with Hermione, Ron, Aletha, and Danger. The latter's eyes were swirling with blue, which reminded Harry of something . . .

**Ginny, don't say anything while I'm taking the test.**

**Oh, I know.** Her mental tone was light. **If I made you think you even _might_ have cheated, you would never forgive me. Don't worry, Harry, I know how noble you are.**

The papers were handed out, and soon Professor Marchbanks was standing next to a huge hourglass, saying, "You have three hours to complete the examination. You may begin."

A furious rustling noise filled the Hall as some five dozen students flipped over their papers. Harry looked down at his and smiled as he read the first question.

_Describe, in detail, the effects of one of the following: Felix Felicis, Veritaserum, or Amortentia._

He circled the first option, recalling a night spent wheedling a particular memory out of Professor Slughorn, and began to write.

_Maybe this won't be my downfall after all . . ._

* * *

Overall, Harry thought, the test went as well as could be expected. _Maybe I won't get my **E**, but hey—I tried my best._ Sure enough, Hermione still felt compelled to run through the test after she had taken it, but she seemed much less tense than two years previously, and Ron wasn't as irritable either.

_Getting together really did them a world of good._

**The same could be said of us, you know.**

Harry just grinned at the slight intrusion; he knew from experience that Ginny sometimes listened to his louder thoughts when she was bored. At one point, he supposed it might have bothered him, but that point was long past; ever since the fiasco with the Founders, he doubted he'd ever decry any aspect of this bond. It was, he decided, one of the best things that had happened to him. **True enough.**

After lunch, the Potions practical proved remarkably unproblematic; the seventh-years were required to brew one potion from memory and one from instructions. For his memorized one, Harry used the Draught of Living Death, complete with the Prince's modifications. The examiner looked slightly impressed when he handed it in. _Snape may have been a git, but there's no reason I can't learn from him. I wonder whether he's done the same thing with his book in this time period . . ._

Transfiguration, the next day, went well enough—Hermione said after the practical that the Animagus transformation had given her a new perspective on complex Transfigurations, and Harry was inclined to agree. _With the amount of reading we've done on it, it had better!_

The true highlight of the exam period, though, was Defense on Friday. For one, it came after two completely free days for the N.E.W.T. students—days which Harry put to great effect, studying in the library of the Den and practicing in the Room of Requirement, preparing for both the exam and his job next year. Second, it was without a doubt Harry's best subject. He did spend enough time relaxing to satisfy Ron, and he got Danger's opinion of the O.W.L.s at one point—"tough, but manageable," though she looked a bit frazzled as she said it. _She's managing, at least._

The practical Defense N.E.W.T. was similar to the O.W.L. Harry remembered from his fifth year, but it was a bit more dangerous, as the examiner (Professor Tofty for Harry) threw mild curses that the student was expected to block or counteract. At first, Tofty verbalized the spells he was using—_Furnunculus_, _Locomotor Mortis_, etc.; Harry earned a few extra points by using specific blocks, which were stronger than the average _Protego_ but only protected against one class of spell. Then they progressed to using nonverbal spells, and finally a mock duel.

"Just try to disarm me," Professor Tofty said. "Please, nothing that will kill me or send me to the Hospital Wing, and don't be discouraged if I win—you're being graded on your technique, not your success. _Tarantallegra!_"

Harry dodged the Tickling Jinx and countered with a nonverbal Stunner, and the duel was on.

It was maddening. Everything the examiner threw at him, he dodged or blocked, but he couldn't land a single hit; Professor Tofty was apparently very skilled at Shield Charms, and he was testing him quite well. _Time to shake things up a bit._ Waving his wand in a wide vertical arc, Harry conjured his Patronus, hoping for a moment's distraction, and sent a Stunner immediately in its wake.

It worked—well, almost. Professor Tofty dropped his shield for a second to launch an offensive spell, not seeing what possible harm a Patronus could cause, and was almost hit by the Stunning Spell that came right through it. He raised his shield again not an instant too soon, although he seemed rather off-balanced by the near miss.

Harry took advantage of that as best he could with the skills he had. Flicking his wand for emphasis, he conjured a small flame momentarily on the back of Professor Tofty's right hand—_through_ his Shield Charm. Tofty dropped his wand in a reflexive reaction to the heat; Harry quickly Summoned it before the examiner could react. He had won.

"Amazing," Tofty said as Harry tossed him back his wand. "I haven't had any N.E.W.T. student defeat me in over twenty-five years—what was his name? Oh yes, Tom Riddle, promising boy, wonder what became of him—"

Harry gulped. "Um, Professor Tofty? Tom Riddle is still alive, and rather—er, infamous—he goes by another name now—" He demonstrated the anagram of _Tom Marvolo Riddle_ as _I am Lord Voldemort_, the same way he had seen Tom do it in the Chamber of Secrets.

"Oh, my," Tofty squeaked. "Oh, my, indeed. I had no idea. Well, congratulations, Mr. Potter. You've done quite well indeed."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said as he walked toward the exit of the Entrance Hall.

_Three down, just the two least important ones to go, and I've got a WEEKEND—_

Harry couldn't suppress a delighted grin.

* * *

The trio's remaining two N.E.W.T.s were worrying for Hermione, but no one else; she needed an **O** in Charms, while Harry and Ron only needed **A**s. Thus, the latter two took good advantage of the weekend, retreating to the Den to avoid bothering the furious fifth-years. They played a few games of three-a-side Quidditch with Ginny, Sirius, Aletha, and James, and Harry even finally—_finally_—had a chance to spend some time alone with Ginny.

Sunday morning at breakfast, Professor McGonagall passed out schedules for the last week of term. "After your N.E.W.T. examinations are complete," she explained, "you will have a week of classes regarding the more practical aspects of magic. You will not be graded on these classes, and you will receive no homework, but all the same it is highly recommended that you attend. The lessons you will learn are important and useful ones."

Ron took the proferred schedule and eyed it briefly. "Well, could be worse," he said. "Five sections of Charms with Flitwick, three of Transfiguration, one of Defense—Merlin!"

"What is it, Ron?" asked Hermione, who was reading her own schedule more slowly and had not yet seen anything amiss.

"Look at Friday night," was all Ron would say.

"Seven o'clock, Great Hall, Defense . . . _Potter?_ Congratulations, Harry!" she enthused a bit loudly, causing heads to turn, especially among the seventh-years. Various mutterings of "What's a _kid_ doing teaching us?" and "What does _he_ know?" could be heard.

Harry shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "Dumbledore asked me to," he said. "Thought I could teach something useful—and I've got a pretty good idea of what I'm going to do." His expression became much more somber. "Things they need to know."

**Can I come?** Ginny asked.

"Actually, let's expand it to all D.A. members fifth year and above, in addition to the seventh-years. Could you guys spread the word?"

"Sure." "Yeah." "We'll be there."

"Thanks, guys." Harry sighed. **God, Gin, I feel like Mad-Eye Moody. Some of the stuff I'm planning to talk about . . . we need to be prepared for it, but that doesn't make it any more pleasant. I'm destroying people's innocence, it feels like.**

**Hard to be innocent when there's a war on,** Ginny responded. **Look, I know you're worried about this, but it's better for us to be prepared. The things you're planning might save people's lives.**

"Has anyone told you it's really freaky when you do that?" Sirius asked.

**He wants freaky? I'll show him freaky . . .** "Yes," Ginny said out Harry's mouth. "Many times."

**Damn, I didn't know we could do that.**

**Neither did I. Learn something new every day.**

The Pack broke down laughing.

* * *

Harry stood behind a podium on the teachers' dais in the Great Hall. Seventy-five faces stood before him, some eager, some neutral, some (Slytherin, he thought) sneering. Snape was mercifully absent.

Harry cleared his throat. "Welcome to your last post-N.E.W.T. informational class," he said carryingly. "Dumbledore has asked me to teach this on account of some of my experiences. I don't much like some of the things I'm about to say, but they need to be said."

He paused for a second and took a breath. Every eye was upon him. Even the skeptics had lost most of their sneers.

"We are at war," Harry said simply. "As much as you may try to avoid it, every one of you will have some part to play in this conflict. Voldemort—" gasps and jumps at the name— "yes, I'm using his name, he's not going to come attack me for it, Voldemort Voldemort Voldemort—he doesn't care about neutrality. According to him, either you're with him or you're against him. And if you're with him, you're probably going to wind up dead."

"That's not true!" one of the Slytherins shouted—Nott, Harry remembered. "The Dark Lord rewards his followers!"

"One, I've only ever heard Death Eaters call Voldemort the 'Dark Lord'. It's a term of twisted respect, and you can bet it'll make me look very closely at you. I do _not_ respond well to Death Eaters." Nott shrank back slightly. "Two, Voldemort is loyal to his followers only so long as they are useful to him. He can be as ruthless to those who support as he is to those who dissent. You would do well to remember that.

"I'm not asking you to risk your life to fight him—yes, there _are_ those of us who do that, and we're not all Aurors. I _am_ asking you to be prepared if Tom or his minions come calling."

It was a calculated use of Voldemort's real name, and it paid off. "Tom?" one of the Ravenclaws asked.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Harry said with a grim smile. "Rearrange the letters and you get 'I am Lord Voldemort'. He hates the name. Prefect, Head Boy, left Hogwarts in 1943 I think. There's quite a lot of interesting tidbits in his background, but I'll leave the investigation to those of you who are so inclined." He decided not to mention that Voldemort was a half-blood; most would not believe him, and he wanted this lecture to seem credible.

"Anyway," Harry continued, "Voldemort— oh, come _on_, people— has certain techniques he likes to use, and it would do you well to know how to counteract them. First, Inferi. Does anyone know what an Inferius is?"

Several people raised their hands, including all the time-travelers and Lily. "Miss Evans?"

"A dead body reanimated by a Dark wizard," Lily said. Several people shuddered.

"That's right." Harry's expression was grim. "Inferi are extraordinarily creepy and extraordinarily dangerous, and Voldemort has killed enough people to make practically an army of them. They can't be killed because they're already dead, but they can be driven off. Does anyone know how?"

No one spoke. No one moved. Even Ron, Hermione, and Ginny kept their hands down, probably to remain inconspicuous.

"Fire," Harry said shortly. "'Like many creatures of the darkness, they detest light and warmth . . .'"

"You sound like you're quoting someone," one of the Ravenclaws said.

"I am. Our esteemed Headmaster, in fact." Silence pervaded for a few moments as Harry was seemingly lost in memory. He shook his head and got back to teaching. "Okay, next thing. Voldemort specializes in spying. He uses secrecy and deceit to gather followers and information. He wasn't a Slytherin for nothing. You all know what Polyjuice Potion is, right?" Everyone nodded. "How easy do you think it would be for a Death Eater to get one of your hairs? Or a hair of one of your loved ones? Very."

"How do you tell if someone's under it, then?" asked one of the Gryffindors.

"You have them prove they're who they say they are. Ask them something only the two of you would know, for instance. Of course, a Death Eater might have forced that out of them before impersonating them. On the other hand, the form of a Patronus, for instance, is unique and unforgeable—yet another reason to learn the charm."

"What do you mean?" someone asked.

"The form of your Patronus is based on personality, connections with loved ones, and so on. A Death Eater won't have the same connections, and he certainly won't have the same personality. Take a look." Harry waved his wand and produced his shining silvery phoenix Patronus.

The class made appreciative noises. Harry held up a hand for silence as his Patronus disappeared. "Now, they're not _completely_ unique; Dumbledore's Patronus is a phoenix too, and I'm sure there have been others in history. But a Death Eater is probably going to have a different kind of Patronus—a snake, maybe, or a vulture, or something befitting his personality. And he's definitely not going to have the same form as the person he's imitating. Animagus forms can't be forged either, if you've studied that. Any questions?"

There were none.

"One last thing, then." Harry took a small jar of spiders out of his pocket and enlarged it; this was the part of his demonstration he was least sure about, and his hand shook so that he almost dropped the jar.

Ginny sent feelings of reassurance over their bond. **They need to know, love. They're seventh-years, and going out into the world. Moody showed it to you in fourth, and he said you were _supposed_ to see them in sixth. Remember?**

Harry took a few deep breaths and forced himself to calm down. **All right. I know. They just seem so innocent sometimes, worrying about girls and grades and all that normal stuff . . .**

**We're none of us innocent. Not with Voldemort around.**

Composing himself, Harry addressed the class. "Does anyone know the three curses most heavily punishable by Wizarding law?"

Several students raised their hands, including all the Pack. Harry called on Peter. _He could use the boost._

"They're called the Unforgivable Curses," Peter said softly. "Imperius, Cruciatus, and the Killing Curse."

"That's correct. They're not all that difficult for a Dark wizard to use, they have quite devastating effects, and they're immensely difficult to avoid. For these reasons, Voldemort and his Death Eaters are rather fond of them." Stepping aside from the podium to stand behind a table next to it, Harry took a spider out of the jar, held it against the table, and pointed his wand in silence. He concentrated his will and shouted, "_Imperio!_"

A hush fell over the Hall as the spider began to scuttle around madly in clear patterns. When it started to spin a web and jump through the air like a trapeeze artist, several students started snickering.

Harry, who had retained a somber, almost regretful expression as he held the curse, dropped it as he heard this result. He summoned the spider with a wave of his wand, placed it carefully back in the jar, and turned the full force of his glare upon the unfortunate laughers. "Would you think it so funny if it was being done to you?" he asked softly.

The seventh-year, who Harry remembered had developed a bit of a reputation for laziness, shook his head wildly.

"Didn't think so. I'm not going to be putting it on you, obviously, but Voldemort won't be so kind."

He proceeded to demenstrate the Cruciatus Curse and _Avada Kedavra_ on the other two spiders. No one moved a muscle as they watched the effects in horror.

"_Evanesco_," Harry muttered, pointing his wand at the jar when all was done. He looked up at the class, his expression rather worn.

"These are not nice curses," he said in a tone implying far more experience than he would have wished. "The use of any of them against a human will earn you an automatic life sentence in Azkaban. No matter how righteously angry you are, no matter if a Death Eater just killed the last family member you have—" Harry said venomously, breaking off. "Don't use them," he repeated more calmly. "If you're decent, even if you're not punished for it, you will wind up regretting it."

"Now, does anyone know how you can avoid the effects of these curses?"

Shocked, the students fell silent for several seconds. Then Sirius asked, "But aren't they unblockable?"

"Correct, you can't block them. You can, however, dodge them. Also, the Imperius curse can be fought—it takes tremendous strength of will, but it _is_ possible. If you see someone acting very oddly, they may have partially fought off an Imperius. Be on your guard."

Harry stepped back to the podium and looked around the room, meeting the eyes of each and every student. "I didn't like showing you this stuff. I _don't_ particularly like talking about it. Ultimately, most of you are going to leave Hogwarts in a few days and just start living your lives. If I thought shielding you from this would ultimately help you, I would do it.

"The truth is, though, it won't. We. Are. At. War. Voldemort's followers are merciless, and the sad likelihood is that most of you will probably have some experience with these curses during your life, either on someone in your family or on you personally. If you know what you're facing, you can take steps to avoid it.

"I'm not asking you to be Mad-Eye Moody. I'm not asking you to be paranoid. I'm not asking you to shout 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE!' and scare the living daylights out of everyone you meet." Most of the students laughed; the old Auror's paranoia was very well known.

"I'm asking you to be prepared.

"If you _want_ to fight, of course we have a place for you. A war has two sides, after all, and the Aurors aren't the only fighters in magical Britain. Talk to Professor Dumbledore. If your plans are for the other side . . . Merlin help you, because no one else will."

Harry took a deep breath and finished his speech. This was his most important point, and he truly wanted to make sure it was understood. "Above all, live your lives. Don't live in fear. If you do, Voldemort has already won. Be decent people, and the rest will take care of itself.

"Dismissed."

He stepped down from the teachers' dais, exhausted, and met back up with the Pack. The room still seemed quiet; people were talking, to be sure, but the conversations were rather subdued.

Before Harry knew it, Ron was giving him a pat on the back. "Amazing job, mate," he said, smiling. "You really know what you're talking about, and it shows."

"You don't think it was too much?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"Not at all." Hermione was emphatic. "Like you said, it needed to be said."

Ginny gave him a hug and a kiss, expressing through their link much the same things Ron and Hermione were saying aloud.

_Maybe, just maybe,_ Harry figured, _I helped one prospective Death Eater to reconsider. Or gave one normal person the information that will someday save his life._

_It's worth it. Better to be alive and slightly scared than clueless and dead._

* * *

"Be welcome, all, to this den-night. We are Pack now, Pack together."

"Pack _forever_." Harry noticed that Ron and Hermione put just a bit of extra stress on the word.

Harry took a deep breath and let it out. "Well, this is it," he said. "Our last night at Hogwarts." The Pack was gathered in the Den for the last time of the year; the date was June 30, a full moon night, and the Leaving Ceremony tomorrow would see them all to the train. He felt an odd sense of nostalgia; it may not have been _this_ Hogwarts that witnessed all the escapades of his seven years' schooling, but it was certainly Hogwarts, and though he would be returning next year, it wouldn't be the same, not really . . .

_Look at me, thinking about Hogwarts as if it's a person._

_Which, for all I know, it may very well be. Or the magical equivalent._

"Not _your_ last," James said with a smile. "I'm going to be taught Defense by my own son. I doubt there's any other Hogwarts students who can claim that. Or that they actually learned something while being so taught."

"It won't be the same, though." Harry smiled wanly. "Hogwarts really is the only place I've ever felt at home. Number Four was just a house, and the Burrow was a wonderful home, but it wasn't really _mine_. Well, I'm still staying here next year; Professors have to live at the castle. What are you and Hermione planning, Ron?"

Ron grinned and looked at Hermione. Apparently, she was the one who had done all the planning. _Somehow, I expected as much._

"We're planning on getting a house in Ottery St. Catchpole," Hermione said, beaming. "I did a bit of research the past week, and apparently there's a nice place there that's just gone on the market. It's actually quite reasonably priced. I think with what I should be making next year, we'll be able to handle it."

"Hold on, 'we'?" Harry gave a teasing grin. "Is there something you and Ron aren't telling me?" He very pointedly looked at their hands, searching for something that evidently wasn't there.

Both Ron and Hermione blushed furiously. "Er— no, nothing like that, but I—" Hermione stammered.

Ron gulped, opened his mouth, then closed it. He gulped again. Finally seeming to find his resolve, he got off the couch and moved to stand—no, _kneel_—in front of Hermione.

**Oh my God,** Harry and Ginny said simultaneously. The comfortable level of chatter in the Den died out instantly. Hermione's expression changed from embarrassment to very surprised happiness.

Ron swallowed again and took Hermione's hands in his. "Hermione," he said tentatively. "I've never been all that great at this stuff—you know me, emotional range of hopefully a bit more than a teaspoon by now—and you know I don't have any money in this time, just what I happened to have in my trunk—" His ears were quite the same color as his hair by now.

"Go on," Hermione said encouragingly.

"Well, I know I've been a bit of a git to you sometimes," Ron continued. "All right, third year, sixth year, I was a _lot_ of a git to you, and I'm sorry. I think I've grown up since then. Dumbledore's funeral, this year when we were captured—we were really there for each other, and I've realized what I have with you is really—special, I guess. Unique. You're really one of the best things in my life right now, Hermione, and I want that to continue."

Hermione's smile grew, giving Ron a bit of much-needed reassurance. "You know—" he said, "you keep me on track, and I keep you having fun every so often. I love that. I love _you_, Hermione." Ron seemed to search anxiously for anything else to say, but his mind wasn't much cooperating at the moment. "Bloody hell," he whispered.

Ron shifted slightly and looked Hermione even more directly in the eyes. He smiled nervously as he spoke. "Hermione Jane Granger, would you—will you marry me?"

Hermione jumped up, beaming, and hugged Ron tightly. She took only enough time to shout, "Yes! Yes! Oh, yes!" before kissing him soundly.

After this had been going on for a few minutes, even the males of the Pack wearing broad grins, Sirius started clapping. Ron and Hermione broke apart quickly—they seemed to have forgotten the presence of everyone else—but nothing could hide their enormous smiles.

"Congratulations, mate," Harry said sincerely. "I know you two will do great together."

"Thanks, Harry," was Ron's response. He and Hermione looked at each other and found that they just _had_ to kiss again.

From then on, it was something of a normal den-night, with stories, games, and laughter. Hermione and Ron remained absurdly happy, and they disappeared a few times and returned looking even happier; overall, Harry thought this was one of the best of all possible worlds. _We need all the happiness we can get, honestly. And I think we have it._

Finally, past midnight, everyone had finally tired and was lying in the main room of the Den, the couples next to each other. (Sirius and Aletha very pointedly slept at opposite corners of the group.) The lights had already been turned off. The members of the Pack lay there, awake but silent and content, for a few minutes, until Harry spoke.

"I think our little twist of time has finally unraveled itself," he mused quietly.

"What do you mean?" Danger asked.

"When we first got here, Dumbledore told us we probably couldn't go back. On the first day of school, he told us we definitely couldn't. But still, I never really felt like I belonged to this time period. Now I do. I feel, well . . . _hopeful_ about my future. And for the first time, I'm thinking of it as that. As _my_ future. As ours."

"I feel the same way, I guess," Ginny said from beside him. "This is the end of an era for three of us—for all of us, really. We're not innocent anymore. We're choosing what's right over what's easy. It _won't_ be easy—" her voice hardened slightly— "but we'll all face it together."

"Pack together," Harry agreed.

"Pack forever," the eleven others chorused.

"I bid you good night and fair dreams," Ginny murmured, on the edge of sleep herself. "May the coming night rest us all, and we rise in the morning stronger for it."

"May it be so."

As Harry drifted off to sleep, he thought he heard Aletha start singing softly, something about doors; it sounded moving, and somehow apt for the Pack. Oddly, he had a strange sense of having heard it even though he knew he hadn't.

_But maybe I'm just imagining it. I'm certainly tired enough._

Harry's thoughts turned to the future. _Here I come, Voldemort. I'm not yours to toy with anymore. I have friends, and you only have servants. We have happiness. We have love. You don't. The Light will always win._

_And meanwhile, I can forge myself a new life, with the people I'd most want in it beside me every step of the way. You, Tom, will not control my life. By living, I defy you. And I'm going to live._

Harry didn't know where he was going, what this future would bring . . .

. . . but he felt sure it would be even better than the life he was leaving behind.

_As long as we face it together._

* * *

**THE END**

(for now)

* * *

(A/N: And it's done! Eight weeks exactly—I finished the first scene of Chapter 1 at 12:30 A.M. PDT on Wednesday, August 16, 2006.

The explanation of the Heart of Hogwarts is from "Dealing with Danger," Chapter 39, by whydoyouneedtoknow.

A few of the theories in this fic—Voldemort's wand being a Horcrux, Snape's family situation, the addictiveness of Dark magic—are based on essays by Red Hen. I recommend reading them, as they're very well thought-out.

This is my first fic, and writing it has been immensely educational (and fun!) for me. Thank you, J.K. Rowing, for creating the universe we're playing in. Thank you, Anne Walsh, for being so gracious in allowing me to use your wonderful ideas, for writing the AU universe those wonderful ideas are presented in, and for helping me with the story when I stumbled. And thank you to everyone who reviewed, especially those of you who took the time to give me some details of what you liked and what you didn't. It really helps.

This universe is not over; I said at the end of Chapter 1 that it would go through Halloween 1981, and I still mean it. A sequel will be beginning in a few weeks, after I have a chance to brainstorm and outline. (I haven't even decided on a title yet.) Don't worry; I've still got more than a few tricks up my sleeve, and I'll still fix errors in "The Twist of Time" if you point them out to me.

So, through all 103436 words, 141 reviews, 18309 hits (and counting) . . . thanks.

Joshua Oreman  
October 11, 2006)


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